


The vedmak and the werewolf

by footlooseandfancyfree



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Przemyslaw is Stiles’ real name, Secrets, Shapeshifting, Sheriff’s name is John, Sleepy Cuddles, Snarky Peter, Snarky Stiles, Stiles brings the Sheriff into the loop, Stilinski Family Feels, Trust Issues, because he is a genius, not involving Stiles or Peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6302929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/footlooseandfancyfree/pseuds/footlooseandfancyfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aligning oneself with the devil isn’t always a stupid idea, especially if said devil is opportunistic, smart and handsome. Okay, the latter isn’t actually a beneficial prerequisite, but it certainly doesn’t hurt to have something nice to look at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Peter is late to the pack meeting.

But what else is new? And why should he be on time? It’s not like he wants to be there. He’d rather finish the book he just started reading, or watch some stupid television show. Hell, he would even go grocery shopping even though he hates to do that.

Maybe things would be different if he was still the one calling the shots, but he is not. After losing his power – to his nephew no less – he is back to where he started.

Being a Beta.

Sure, things could be worse. He could have ended up being an Omega, and that’s like getting the shit end of the stick. Everybody knows the lone wolf doesn’t last long, especially with hunters lurking around every corner.

So, all things considered, being demoted to Beta isn’t that bad. Sure, it’s annoying as hell, but definitely not the worst.

Needless to say, not every member was enthusiastic to accept him into the pack. Actually, that’s the understatement of the century. Some of them were outright against it, others had fewer reservations, but none of them were _enthusiastic_.

And if Peter was truly honest with himself, after what he did, he probably deserved to be left out in the cold, all alone, fending for himself. Not for taking his revenge on the people who killed his family and put him in a coma for six years. He will never feel regret about that. Sure, human authorities frown upon those ‘eye for an eye’ actions, but things work differently in the supernatural world. And he knows Derek doesn’t really fault him for that either, but the Alpha still hasn’t forgiven him for killing his sister Laura. And yes, now that he has regained most of his sanity, he feels bad for resorting to such a drastic action.

In his defense, he never really planned to kill his niece, but when the opportunity presented itself, he simply couldn’t resist taking it. He is nothing if not opportunistic.

Derek wasn’t the loudest voice of dissent, though.

Not even close.

It’s Scott, _his_ own former Beta, and Lydia, the girl who for some weird reason immune is the Bite. And the Argent girl, of course, but she doesn’t count, since she is not part of the pack. Not officially, anyway.

Granted, they all have a reason, or two, to detest him, but seriously, they are still alive. So what’s their problem?

Especially Scott. After all, the Bite is a gift. It made him healthy and strong, and incidentally improved his social status. He should be grateful.

Maybe he made a mistake by choosing to bite Scott instead of Stiles. Then again, given everything Peter has learned about the Sheriff’s son in the last couple of days, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway. And considering how defiant Scott was, and still is, Stiles would be even less inclined to bow down to him.

Actually, it’s a character trait Peter admires, but only in Stiles, because he doesn’t take shit from anyone. Not from him, not from his best friend, not even from his Alpha or any of the other Betas. He has a strong and willful mind, an unshakable sense of loyalty for his family and his friends, a keen sense of perception … oh god, he really should stop making lists why he likes Stiles. Because he doesn’t. Sure, he likes him better than the rest, but that isn’t saying much.

Jackson and the three newest members of the pack – Erika, Isaac and Boyd – were more or less ambiguous on the issue whether Peter should be allowed to join the pack, which was neither here nor there. They just didn’t know him like the rest, or, in Jackson’s case, fear him.

In the end there was only one person who came down for him, well sorta.

“Look at it this way. If he is part of the pack we can keep a close eye on him,” Stiles pointed out, daring Peter with a fierce look.

But Peter doesn’t take the bait, only shrugs and remarks, “Well, we are all works in progress.”

Back then he had no idea how close to the truth he really was.

Literally.

 

\+ + +

 

The hallway is quiet.

No wonder, there is no one living in the building except for Derek.

Why his nephew spent a large chuck of his money to buy this particular building is still beyond him. Sure, far away from any human eyes and ears, which provides them with a safe place to meet, but still. Living here? Peter prefers something with more comfort, something like his apartment downtown, a place he wants to return to sooner rather than later.

Not wasting another second Peter pushes open the slide door and steps inside the loft, his newly acquired shadow following right behind him.

No one greets him, well not with words anyway. He receives a curt nod from Derek and Jackson, but the rest – aka Scott, Erica, Boyd and Isaac – just ignore him as usual.

Well not exactly, they do stare at him, or rather at his four legged, furry companion.

“What’s with the dog?” Scott speaks up first, frowning.

“Really? And you call yourself a veterinarian’s right hand,” Peter scoffs, shaking his head.

“Okay, let me rephrase that. What’s with the _wolf_?”

“Why? Does he scare you?” Peter mocks, dropping down into the armchair by the window, far away from the rest of the pack. The wolf sits down on his haunches next to him, scanning the room with his dark, intelligent eyes.

“No, of course not,” Scott shoots back, from his seat on the couch.

“Care to put that to a test? Why don’t you come over, and try to pet him? I’m sure he won’t bite you.”

“Cut it out, the both of you,” Derek snarls, his eyes blazing bright red. It has the desired effect on everyone. Well, everyone except on the wolf. He just lets out a huffy whine, resting his head on the armrest. “I don’t mind if you bring your _pet_ or whatever he is with you, Peter, just make sure he does his business outside and not in here.”

“No worries,” Peter smiles, “I think he is smart enough not to try and mark his territory in here. Right, pup?”

The wolf snaps at him when he tries to ruffle his furry head, but misses. If it’s due to Peter’s quick reflexes or if he didn’t really want to bite him is hard to tell. Peter hopes it’s the latter, for the wolf’s sake.

“Looks like he doesn’t like you much either,” Scott comments, the glee in his voice hard to miss.

“I said stop it,” Derek growls, “Just ignore the wolf. We’ve got work to do and you guys have school tomorrow. So, let’s get started.”

Scott ducks his head in submission, but Peter doesn’t. He just smirks.

“What about Stiles?” Isaac interjects. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

“He isn’t coming,” Scott grumbles, clearly unhappy about that.

“I thought he was released him from the hospital two days ago,” Derek frowns.

“He was, but he is still homebound.”

“You didn’t talk to him in person?” Derek’s frown deepens. He might not like his Beta’s best friends very much, but he clearly considers him pack.

“Not face to face, only on the phone. His dad doesn’t want him involved in any of this … at least not until he is fully recovered.”

“I get it,” Derek nods, solemnly. “Not being able to safe someone and almost dying in process … it’s not easy to come to grips with something like that.”

Peter meets the Alpha’s eyes for a moment. There is something about the way Derek looks at him, that makes him really, _really_ uncomfortable, which is why he breaks the connection first. He doesn’t need his nephew’s pity, or anyone’s for that matter.

“Yeah, he is still pretty freaked out about that. Well, at least the Sheriff gave me these,” Scott says, clearly needing to change the subject. He opens his bag back and retrieves a stack of papers. “Copies of the police and autopsy reports.”

“Well, I’m sure we can solve this one without Stiles,” Derek says, trying his best to sound confident, but failing.

And Peter is not the only one who notices.

 

\+ + +

 

The meeting lasts for hours.

They go through every piece of evidence, which actually isn’t much.

The killer didn’t leave anything behind, almost like he or she appeared out of thin air and disappeared the same way.

“Whatever we are dealing with, it’s smart and quick. And unfortunately it has no scent, we can follow. Did you find something in Argent’s bestiary?” Derek looks at Scott.

“No,” Scott says, hanging his head. Clearly, things between him and Allison still aren’t fully resolved. After the whole Gerard business and her mother dying, it’s a wonder they are still talking to each other. The Beta’s sadness is disturbing and really annoying. Sometimes Peter wants to throttle the boy. Bedding a hunter? Really? And why Derek doesn’t put his foot down and outright forbid him to see the Argent girl is yet another thing Peter will never understand. He, of all people, should know how dangerous it is to put one’s trust in a hunter.

In an attempt to distract himself from his aggravating train of thoughts, Peter goes over the list of the names again. “Did anyone of you notice that victims are only men?”

“Yeah, so what?” Scott remarks, dryly.

Peter simply ignores him. “And two of the victims were excellent swimmers. So why would they drown?”

“Maybe they were sick or drugged?” Erika offers.

Peter shakes his head. “The autopsy says they were in perfect health and they found no narcotics in their systems.”

“They also show no signs of struggle, like they went under willingly,” Boyd points out. “Who wouldn’t fight back when he gets drowned?”

“Stiles did. He had scratch marks all over his body,” Scott contributes.

“Too bad, he doesn’t remember anything. Whatever made him fight back is probably an important clue …” Isaac mumbles, quickly adding, “but I’m glad he wasn’t the fourth victim.”

“There will be no more victims,” Derek growls. “We have to stop and we will.”

Peter rolls his eyes. He doesn’t doubt the Alpha’s resolve, not at all. But no matter how determined he and the rest of the pack are it doesn’t mean the odds are in their favor.

They come up with a plan.

Well, sorta.

It’s more a reconnaissance mission, since they still haven’t found much to go on. Staking out every body of water in town from the local swimming pool to the lake in the woods isn’t going to be easy, but it’s all they can do for the moment.

The wolf gets more and more agitated with each passing minute. Peter isn’t completely sure why, but he has an inkling. That’s why he excuses himself, and the wolf, and leaves just when they agree to order pizza. Sure, he is hungry too, but hanging around a bunch of teenagers trying to act all noble and self-sacrificing is getting on his nerves.

Nobody tries to stop him.

Not even Derek. He only makes Peter promise to meet him at the old Hale house the next new moon, which is two days away.

Peter quickly drives home, ignoring the wolf’s growls when he breaks the speed limit. He only stops at his favorite Chinese restaurant to pick up the order he placed right after leaving Derek’s loft. Half an hour later they both enter Peter’s apartment.

After dumping the food onto the coffee table, the werewolf goes into the kitchen and returns with two bottles of water. “I still don’t understand why you just don’t come clean to Scott and the rest of the pack?”

The wolf stares at him for a moment, before his form begins to ripple and blur. A moment later a young man stands before him, not naked as one might suspect, but dressed in jeans, a worn-out t-shirt and sneakers.

The boy stretches himself, replying, “I have my reasons.”

“Care to enlighten me, Stiles?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter full of nothing but Stilinski men, well, okay, and a short appearance of Melissa McCall.

_Two days earlier …_

Stiles hates hospitals.

For _so_ many reasons.

But what he hates even more is losing.

He thought he was prepared but clearly he’d overestimated his strength. It doesn’t really make sense though. After all, he was able to hold Derek above water for hours, and the Alpha is anything but a light-weight. Then again, the circumstances hadn’t been exactly the same. Sure, Derek didn’t move a muscle, but not because he didn’t want to. He would have fought tooth and nail if it hadn’t been for the Kanima venom paralyzing him.

The boy from the other night hadn’t been poisoned, though. Sure, he wasn’t nearly as buff as Derek, but he wasn’t a weakling either. He simply didn’t want to put up a fight, allowing himself to be drowned.

Stiles is still a bit hazy on the details.

He can’t remember how he ended up at the local swimming pool that night, but when he got there he immediately knew something was wrong.

Just like he always does.

Anyway, there was a boy and a girl … well, something that looked like a girl. She was beautiful, stunning even, but kinda ghostly. Not a real ghost, though. She was definitely corporeal, and she seemed to have the boy under a spell or something, luring him into the pool, and he just followed her.

Stiles yelled out to them, but neither one heard him. Or rather one of them did, but chose to pay him no attention. Realizing he didn’t have another choice, Stiles went after them, not even bothering to take his shoes off first. He tried everything to pull the boy to the surface, but every time he got a good grip on the boy, the _thing_ lashed out, literally. Her claws didn’t go in deep, but it still hurt like a bitch. She didn’t go on the offensive, though, only thwarted his attempts to pull the boy away from her, and vice versa.

It felt like fighting on two fronts. It was exhausting, and in the end, apparently completely futile.

The boy is dead and the girl, or whatever she is, vanished without a trace. Not to mention the fact that Stiles almost drowned himself.

And that’s actually the most baffling thing.

Not the drowning part – that was scary, beyond all question, and something he has no intention to experience ever again – but the fact that someone happened to show up the second he blacked out from the lack of oxygen.

Stiles has no idea who pulled him from the pool, but whoever it was, stayed with him until the paramedics arrived.

He will figure it out, though.

He always does.

 

\+ + +

 

“The doctor signed his release papers, but he should take it easy, at least for next couple of days,” Melissa McCall says, in her usual motherly way.

“I’ll make sure he does,” John Stilinski avows, daring his son to defy him.

Of course, Stiles has a few witty comebacks ready on his tongue, but for once he keeps his mouth shut. Not because it’s pointless, but because he put his dad through enough as it is, and to be completely honest, he still feels a bit under the weather. A few more days of rest actually sound good.

So, he just shrugs, gets out of the bed, grabs the clean change of clothes his dad had brought and vanishes into the bathroom to get dressed. The sooner he gets out of here, the better. He has things to do.

When he reemerges, Melissa hands him a small tube. “You should put this on the scratches. It contains aloe vera. It will help with the healing.”

“Thanks,” Stiles accepts the medicine.

“Please, listen to your dad. There is nothing more important than you getting better,” she says, giving him a pointed look.

“I will,” Stiles promises, not having the slightest intention to go back on his word, at least not for the next two days or so. Scott’s mom might not know what exactly transpired but she knows something is going on, and he can’t just sit on the sidelines and let the pack handle it.

“Good,” she smiles, “Now go, before I change my mind and convince Dr. Vandenburg that you should stay here.”

Both Stilinski men don’t need to be told twice, and leave in a hurry.

 

\+ + +

 

They drive home in silence.

Stiles doesn’t mind, though. It gives him time to think and make plans. That’s something that will probably never change.

Halfway between the hospital and their house, his dad yanks him from his thoughts, thankfully with something trivial. “I didn’t get the chance to go grocery shopping, and since I’m sure none of us is in the mood to cook something anyway, how about we get some takeout from Nate’s?”

“Sure,” Stiles agrees, for once not starting an argument about bad cholesterol and clogged arteries. After two days of hospital food he deserves a burger, or two, and some curly fries, and so does his dad for spending almost every free minute at his bedside.

They stop at their favorite diner and get everything they need. Stiles smiles when his dad orders a salad without being ordered to, but doesn’t comment. They make it home in record time. And if the Sheriff goes over the speed limit a couple of times, he ignores that too.

They finish their dinner in record time, both too hungry to care. When they are done, his dad gathers up the empty boxes and paper bags and throws them into the trash.

“How about some coffee?”

“Sounds great,” Stiles sighs, leaning back in his seat. He feels happy and sated, but still kinda restless, and he knows exactly why. “But first I need help moving something from the attic.”

“What?” The Sheriff asks casually, already busy preparing the coffee maker.

“Grandma’s hope chest.”

“That old thing? Why? It doesn’t even open.”

“It does now,” Stiles smirks.

“Really?” his dad looks up, frowning. In fact, his doubt is written all over his face.

“You don’t believe me? Come on, I’ll show you,” Stiles is on his feet and halfway up the stairs before he hears his father moving.

 

\+ + +

 

Even though it’s dusty and cramped with all kinds of stuff, Stiles loves the attic.

He can practically _taste_ the memories packed away in the countless cardboard boxes and plastic bags, now more than ever. It makes him both sad and happy, but most of all it makes him curious. He sits in front of his grandmother’s chest, but doesn’t open it, just waits for his father to catch up.

“Trouble?” the Sheriff crouches down beside his son, going right for the latch. It doesn’t budge. “See, it doesn’t open.”

“Here let me,” Stiles says, having a hard time hiding the glee in his voice. He barely needs to touch the latch with his index finger and the lid pops open.

“How?” his dad gasps, clearly shocked.

“I don’t really know for sure,” Stiles shrugs. “I came up here a few nights ago … and I don’t know why or how, but the chest was calling to me, or something. I just touched it, and wham, it opened. I didn’t even have to say ‘Abracadabra’ or ‘Open Sesame’. Clearly, I have the magic touch.”

He wiggles his fingers and grins at his father. It’s a joke, well more or less, but it falls flat with the Sheriff. Something flickers over his face, though, but it’s gone before Stiles can decipher it.

“Okay, smarty-pants,” his dad says, pushing the lid shut. Apparently, the chest doesn’t mind _that_. Then he gets on his feet, pulling his son with him. “Let’s do this. You grab one handle, I’ll take the other.”

Beaming, Stiles follows his dad’s instruction. His smile falters a little when he lifts up the chest. It’s heavy, very heavy. Sure, Stiles could have just emptied the contents and taken them to his room, but something tells him, keeping them stored inside the chest is very important, crucial even. Evidently, nobody but him can open the chest, which means he is the only one who has excess to the things hidden inside.

It takes them a couple of minutes to carry the chest from the attic to his bedroom, mostly because Stiles has to set it down a couple of times, but they finally make it there.

“It doesn’t exactly go with the rest of your stuff,” his dad comments dryly.

Stiles huffs out a laugh. “I didn’t know you had a knack for interior decoration.”

“I don’t,” the Sheriff rolls his eyes, “I’m just saying … someone will notice it and ask uncomfortable questions.”

There is that look again, the very same one from before. Stiles has always been good at putting two and two together, and now is no exception.

“You know, don’t you?”

“What?”

“That I’m more than just a seventeen year old spazz with concentration issues,” Stiles answers harshly, not buying the puzzled look on his face one bit.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Przemyslaw,” his dad warns, before continuing in a gentler tone, “Yes, _technically_ speaking, I knew. Your mother … she kept talking about it a lot in her last days, about you inheriting the family’s power. But for obvious reasons I didn’t believe her …”

He sounds sad, apologetic even, and Stiles can’t have that. “I know, Dad, but neither did I. For God’s sake, she kept talking about her shoelaces, trying to convince me that they were actually rain worms under a stasis spell …”

His dad huffs out a laugh at that particular memory. “I hope she wasn’t right about that too.”

“Well, you’ll never know,” Stiles shrugs, grinning. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Yes, especially in this town,” the sheriff remarks, wryly. Stiles can’t detect any undertone, hinting that he knows more. But given the circumstances, he probably should.

“Umm, while we’re on the subject, there is something else you should know, other than me being a vedmak.”

“And what’s that?”

“I run with werewolves.”

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles returns from the kitchen with the coffee pot. It’s their second one. Decaf this time.

“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger?” he asks, refilling both their mugs with the steaming beverage, before retaking his seat on the family couch.

“I’m good, son,” the Sheriff grumbles, adding milk and sugar to his coffee. He stirs it a couple of times, takes a sip and leans back in his armchair. “So, let me get this straight. Scott is a werewolf, and so are the rest of all your friends.”

“Yes,” Stiles confirms, quickly adding, “Well, everyone except for Lydia and Allison.”

He wisely glances over the details surrounding Lydia’s apparent immunity to the Bite. No need to revisit the worst night of his life, well his second worst night. He also leaves out the part about Allison and her family being professional hunters. Not because he wants to protect them, which he doesn’t, but because his dad is a law enforcement officer and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to people running around his town with loaded guns and arrows, shooting at (innocent) people. For now, he needs him focused on the main details.

“And my friend Deaton is not just a veterinarian.” It’s both a statement and a question.

“I think he is something like me. Well, not exactly. As far as I can tell he has no real magic, he is more like an advisor. He may be a Shaman or a Druid. I don’t know. He isn’t very forthcoming when it comes to things like that.”

His dad nods, clearly stowing it away for further analysis at some other time. “And you are a … what did you call it?”

“A Vedmak. Well, more accurately, given my heritage, I’m a Wiedźmak. But in simplest terms, I’m a warlock.”

“That’s a male witch.”

“Correct,” Stiles smiles, slightly surprised.

“What? I’m not a fool,” his dad replied, brusquely. “So, what does that mean? Are you starting to ride a broomstick from now on instead of your jeep?”

“I’m pretty sure that isn’t part of my skill set,” Stiles snorts, glad that he didn’t just take a sip of his coffee. Because that would have been just … bad. But he is also glad that despite everything, his dad still hasn’t lost his sense of humor. “Honestly, I have no idea what it means. And it’s not like I can ask someone. All I have are these books and journals, and I haven’t even finished the first one yet. Unfortunately, most of them are written in Polish, and I’m a bit rusty.”

“I’m sorry, but you know as well as I do, I’m not going to be much help to you in that department.”

“That’s okay,” Stiles says, waving his hand dismissively. “I will figure it out eventually.”

They spend the next few minutes in silence, both sipping their coffee. It’s his dad who speaks up first.

“With all of this new knowledge … maybe I should go over some old cases …”

“Don’t!” Stiles stops him mid-sentence, quickly rephrasing when he sees his dad’s startled if not irritated expression. “What I mean is, don’t go over your old cases just because you feel the need to make up for something. You didn’t know. Nobody is supposed to know. I only got mixed into all of this because Scott got bitten. I promise I will help you fill in the gaps, on future events, but please, please, don’t waste your time and effort on things that are over and done.”

“Fine,” the Sheriff relents, somewhat reluctantly.

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles goes to bed that night completely exhausted, but with a smile on his face.

Telling his dad was long overdue, and surprisingly it went a thousand times better than he’d imagined it would. It’s obvious that the Sheriff will still need some time to digest all the information, but at least Stiles wouldn’t have to lie to him anymore.

It’s like a heavy burden has been lifted off his shoulders.

His dad did ask a lot of question, but he also listened very carefully, probably making a mental list, maybe even a real one now that he is in his bedroom, to look into certain things further.

He also had a good point; Stiles should tell someone. Scott should probably be his first choice. After all, he is his best friend. But he would tell Derek, and given the strained relationship the Alpha has with Deaton, Stiles isn’t sure how Derek would react to finding out that the fragile human is suddenly packing power. Real power, power that might be able to rival his own.

So, no, telling Scott is out of the question. At least for now.

It takes Stiles a while to fall asleep, and when he wakes up the next morning, he knows exactly who his confidant will to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Peter’s POV.

_An hour or so before the pack meeting …_

Peter loves his apartment building.

The rent is a bit steep, especially since this is Beacon Hills and not Santa Barbara, but it’s nice and quiet, and that’s all that matters. And it’s not like he can’t afford it. In fact, he could have bought a house if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Sure, he has no qualms about spending his money on things he desires, like eating at great restaurants or buying clothes not off the rack, but he has never been one for pouring his money down the drain. Keeping the apartment in top shape is already big enough of a nuisance to him, which is why he hired Lucía. The small, middle-aged Hispanic woman comes over twice a week, doing all the things he doesn’t like to do.

He likes her.

She doesn’t talk much, just flits through the apartment, doing her job. He can’t tell whether she knows about his family or not. She could be completely unaware, since she is living two towns over and just moved to California three years ago. Maybe she just has more tact than _some_ people; or she simply doesn’t want to risk her job.

After all, he is paying her very well.

Peter looks up and glances at the clock. It’s almost six. Derek called him earlier, telling him to come over at half past six and join the pack meeting.

And he gets it. There is yet another supernatural being running around Beacon Hills, killing people, but that doesn’t mean he is all too eager to get involved.

Peter turns another page of his book, making no move to leave yet. It takes about twenty minutes to get to Derek’s loft, and if he turns up a little late, nobody will truly mind. Without feeling even an ounce of shame he spends the next ten minutes or so finishing two more chapters. Just when he is about to start another one, he gets sidetracked by a sudden shift in the air. It’s gone before he can get a clear read on it, but his instincts kick in nonetheless. He learned a long time ago, ignoring even the tiniest signs can be very foolish, not to mention dangerous. That’s why he is always on his guard. Just like now.

He drops his book and partially shifts into his Beta form, focusing all of his senses.

He can detect a heartbeat. It’s fast, clearly not belonging to a human. It could be a dog or a cat, but then again none of his neighbors own a pet. Maybe a stray got in, although, that’s highly unlikely, since the front door is always locked.

It has to be an animal, because that’s all Peter can smell. There isn’t even the slightest trace of human scent he can pick up, well except for the ones that live here. So, it’s probably not a shifter, which is good, but not enough to put him completely at ease.

With the stealth of a jungle cat Peter moves towards the door, and listens more closely. He can hear the animal coming up the last flight of stairs and down the hall, its soft paws barely making a sound on the carpet. It stops right in front of Peter’s door, clearly expecting him to open it.

Not sure he should do it, Peter hesitates. True, unless it’s a full grown grizzly, he doesn’t really have to fear any animal. Apparently, he takes too long to make up his mind, because the next thing he hears is a scratching sound.

Sharp nails against hardwood.

Furious, he tears open the door.

 

\+ + +

 

Peter didn’t really know what he expected to find, but certainly not this.

There is a sandy wolf sitting on his welcome mat, staring up at him with its dark eyes, eyes that are way too intelligent for an animal. And if he didn’t know it better, he’d say the wolf is smirking at him.

“Are you lost?” he barks, not really expecting an answer, but unable to stop himself from asking the obvious, yet stupid question.

The wolf just huffs and walks right past him.

“I didn’t say you can come in,” Peter growls, but for some reason he doesn’t stop the wolf from entering his apartment. “But by all means, why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable.”

Grumbling, he turns his back on the wolf to close the door. It’s only for a few seconds, but still, it’s stupid and reckless, especially given the fact that he doesn’t what, or who, he is dealing with. But before he can realize his mistake, he feels the strange energy again, like static electricity in the air, combined with the smell of burnt ozone. It evaporates just as quickly, only this time its disappearance is accompanied by a very familiar voice.

“Wow, courtesy clearly doesn’t run in your family.”

Peter whirls around, this time shifting completely.

“Put away the claws and the fangs. It’s just me; Stiles,” the Sheriff’s son sighs, clearly more annoyed than threatened by his reaction. Come to think of it, Peter hasn’t been able to detect any sign of fear coming from the teenager for quite some time, which equally intrigues and unsettles him.

“I can see that,” Peter snarls, not ready to put away _anything_.

So much for not having to deal with another shifter … but it can’t be. He would have sensed that. He takes another whiff just to be sure. He can’t tell what Stiles is, but he is certainly not a shifter like him. From the looks of the aura around the boy, he has changed though, significantly. He is more than he was a couple of days ago.

“What happened to you?” he blurts out, immediately regretting his lapse in control. He is usually more suave than this, rarely ever allowing people to see when things rattle him. Showing weakness means being weak. But even if Stiles notices his slip-up, he doesn’t comment, which is odd. Usually, the Sheriff’s son doesn’t leave any chance to make a snide remark.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” Peter says, folding his arms across his chest, casually leaning against the door. He is still not sure what to make of him, but by now he is pretty certain, Stiles doesn’t mean him any harm.

“No, actually you don’t,” Stiles argues, quickly amending his statement, “well, _we_ don’t. I need you to take me with you to the pack meeting.”

It’s more an order than a polite request. Bold, but again, kinda intriguing.

“Did your jeep finally die?” Peter smirks.

“Roscoe is fine, thanks for asking,” the boy glowers, clearly miffed that the werewolf dares to make fun of his car. But really, who can blame him? Stiles’ jeep is a piece of crap. “And I didn’t mean that I needed a lift. I could have asked my dad to give me one if that was the case. No, I mean, I need you to take me there … while in my other form.”

“Why?”

“I really don’t want to get into that right now, but I promise I will tell you everything later.”

He sounds sincere. Peter cannot detect even the slightest sign of a lie.

“Fine,” he shrugs, retrieving his keys from the table next to the door. “Let’s go.”

 

\+ + +

 

_Back to the present …_

 

Peter hands one of the bottles to Stiles, who accepts it graciously, well more than that actually. He reaches for it like he hasn’t had a drop of water for days, quickly opening the bottle and emptying half of its contents in one gulp.

The werewolf just smirks, but doesn’t comment. He knows _exactly_ how a parched throat feels like.

On his way to his armchair he grabs one of the Chinese food boxes and a pair of chopsticks, before he makes himself comfortable, with his bottle safely tucked at his side.

“Well,” he prompts, staring pointedly at Stiles.

The boy bites his lower lip, obviously contemplating what to say or how to phrase it, which is quite the novelty. Usually, he can’t keep his mouth shut, speaking his mind whether it’s appropriate or not. Peter likes that about him, even though he isn’t showing it.

But maybe something more has changed about him, than just his sudden ability to magically transform himself into a wolf.

It’s a nifty talent, though, but clearly much more exhausting than shifting is for his kind. Stiles looks strung out and his eyes keep wandering between him and the Chinese food on the table.

The werewolf rolls his eyes and huffs. “I didn’t buy the food just for me. Just take what you want.”

Apparently, that’s all the boy has been waiting for. “Thanks. I’m starving.”

Stiles sits down on the couch and pulls the plastic bag toward him and opens up the first carton. He carefully sniffs at it, before quickly closing it. He repeats the same action with the next two. Only the forth, the Kung Pao Chicken, seems to meet his tastes. He pulls the box completely open, eyeing the second pair of chopsticks with disdain.

“The kitchen is right through there,” Peter waves his hand dismissively, not even trying to hide his amusement. “Top drawer right next to the dishwasher.”

Stiles just sticks his tongue out at him, before quickly disappearing into his kitchen to retrieve his preferred choice of cutlery. Peter notices that he doesn’t trip over his feet, not even once, wondering if his newfound steadiness has something to do with his ability to shift into a wolf.

They eat in silence. Well, mostly. It’s not that Stiles is a noisy eater per see, but he makes quite a few appreciating, if not distracting noises. Peter can’t really blame him, though. For a place like Beacon Hills, it’s pretty good Chinese food.

Otherwise occupied, it’s clear that Stiles isn’t going to answer his earlier question any time soon. But since patience isn’t exactly one of Peter’s strong suits, he tries a different approach.

“So, your father knows.”

“Yes,” Stiles mumbles, taking another bite.

“It’s about time,” Peter comments, dryly, and he means it. Sure, generally speaking the more people know about the supernatural world the more dangerous it becomes for his kind, but the Sheriff is too involved already, and not just because of his position as a police officer.

“That’s actually what he said,” Stiles snorts, his eyes betraying his nonchalance, though. He clearly still has his doubts, but not because he doesn’t trust his father to keep his mouth shut but because he is worried about his safety, and with good reason. “The thing is I probably still wouldn’t have told him about the supernatural world if I had another choice, but apparently I don’t, since I’m not a human bystander anymore, but a full member.”

_‘Now we’re getting somewhere …’_

“Which is?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I’m Sirius Black,” Stiles exclaims, his smirk quickly turning into a grimace when he takes in Peter’s annoyed expression. “Seriously, what is it with you Hales? No sense of humor, whatsoever.”

“That may be true when it comes to my nephew, but _I_ do have a good sense. I just don’t like it when people push their luck with me.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Stiles relents, somewhat miffed. “No more jokes, just the facts. I can do that.”

He pushes his empty box away and takes another swig from his bottle. Then he leans back and talks frankly.

As it turns out his joke was actually dead-on. He may not be a wizard with a magic wand, but he is a warlock. Well, a vedmak, as he calls it. He doesn’t go into detail, just gives Peter the cliff-notes about his newfound identity. The werewolf doesn’t press for more information, partially because he knows Stiles is still unsure what it all means, but more importantly because he knows he wouldn’t get a straight answer. There is still a lot the warlock doesn’t know about werewolves either. Some things simply should remain a secret.

Stiles also fills him in on what they are dealing with. It’s called a rusalka, some sort of water spirit. But unfortunately that’s all he has found so far. No indication who she is, how to find her, and most importantly how to kill her. But at least it’s more than he and the pack have figured out so far.

“That still doesn’t answer my question? Why come to me?”

“When I was in the pool, I saw her face. She is in pain, and angry, very angry. I think she is out for vengeance, either killing these men because they had something to do with her death or as substitutes. I have my dad looking into the recent deaths and all the missing person reports from the last two years.”

Peter nods in approval, and then something dawns on him. “That’s why you sought me out instead of Scott or Derek. Because you think I have something in common with the rusalka.”

For the first time that night Stiles averts his gaze in discomfort.

“Smart,” Peter remarks, not sure whether he should feel insulted or honored. For the moment he goes with neither, storing it away for further analysis at a later time. “What’s in it for me?”

Stiles’ smile returns at once. Clearly, he has been expecting _that_ question. “Well, I can teach you how to turn into a wolf, a real one, like me. I’ve seen you come close.”

Peter doesn’t bother to tell him that that was just his inner turmoil, his rage coming to the surface, manifesting itself in a monstrous shape. Of course, he wants to learn how to fully transform into a wolf, but he doubts that’s even possible for a Beta. As far as he knows, only an Alpha posses that gift. But who knows, maybe with some magical help it can actually work. He is certainly not opposed to give it a try.

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I owe you.”

“For keeping this,” Peter waves his hand between them, “a secret?”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head, swallowing audibly. “For setting you on fire last year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles’ POV – I will be switching back and forth. Oh, and I’m totally ignoring “Visionary”. Peter is dark, but not that dark.

The Sheriff picks him up after his shift ends, which is around midnight.

“I don’t like him,” he grumbles under his breath, glaring at Peter.

Stiles has no idea why the werewolf came down with him. Maybe he just wanted to do the appropriate thing for once, ending their date the right way. Not that this has been a date. Though maybe it was, depending on how you define a date. Okay, maybe clandestine meeting is the more appropriate term, but whatever.

Of course, Peter hears the Sheriff just fine, his mouth quirking up into a devilish grin. Stiles probably should remind his dad, again, that sensitive hearing is part of the whole werewolf package, but then again, maybe his dad doesn’t actually need a reminder. Maybe he intended to be overheard.

“Believe me, nobody likes him,” Stiles assures his dad, shooting Peter a challenging look, which is actually more teasing than anything. The werewolf just flashes his bright blue eyes at Stiles before he turns around and vanishes into the building.

_‘So much for being able to take a joke.’_

Stiles huffs and gets in the back of the police cruiser, changing into his other form. Better safe than sorry. Sure, the new moon – the rusalka’s preferred time to strike – is still two days away, but he knows that at least one wolf is out there, prowling through town, checking the boundaries, looking for clues.

“I’m not sure I will ever get used to this,” his dad shakes his head and starts the car, pointedly ignoring his son’s answering snigger. Well, actually it sounds more like a cross between a sneeze and yip. “Though, it has its advantages. At least this way you have to listen to what I have to say and can’t interrupt me.”

Stiles begs to differ. He could easily give mouth by barking or howling, but refrains from doing either. Not just because it would defeat the purpose of staying under the radar, but because he wants to give his dad this rare opportunity. He kinda earned it.

“I understand why you want to keep your … _inheritance_ a secret. I do. People haven’t exactly changed since the Salem witch trials. If anything they have gotten even more bigoted,” his dad lets loose a deep-felt sigh, before he continues. “But what I don’t understand is why you would choose someone like Peter to confide in. I know you are still keeping things from me, that you haven’t told me everything, especially about _him_ , and maybe the less I know the better, but I’m a cop. I read people for a living. And Peter Hale definitely spells trouble to me. With a capital T.”

 _‘Duh,’_ Stiles agrees with a snort-like noise. _‘Trouble is Peter’s middle name. Though, I like to call him Peter Crazypants Hale.’_

“I take it you agree with me. Good,” his dad remarks, sounding a little more at ease, but not completely. “You know I’ll always have your back and help you out whenever and wherever I can. But we both know there is only so much I can do. And if you think he is the right person, I’ll go with it. I might not trust him, but I trust you. But if he gets you hurt, or so much puts lays a hand on you himself, I will not hesitate to put a bullet through his head.”

Stiles huffs softly, not doubting a word. His dad may not have any supernatural powers, but he would do everything in his power to protect his son. He might not be as practiced as Chris Argent is in dealing with werewolves, but Stiles knows he wouldn’t miss the target.

They drive the rest of the way in silence.

Stiles is a bit surprised that his dad doesn’t have more to say, but mostly he is glad, that that is all, at least for the moment.

When his dad pulls into their driveway, Stiles shifts back into his human form, unable to hold back a pained groan.

“Are you okay?” the Sheriff asks, looking over his shoulder with a deep frown on his face.

“Yeah,” Stiles quickly assures him. “I’m just a little sore from all the shifting back and forth today.”

“I can imagine,” his dad nods, adding with a laugh, “Well, I can’t, but I take your word for it. Come on, let’s get you inside. You can take a nice long shower, while I make us some tea.”

“Sounds perfect,” Stiles sighs, following his dad inside the house. He quickly toes off his shoes and makes a beeline for the stairs. When he reaches it, his dad calls his attention once more.

“One more thing, son. I do respect your decision to keep your friends in the dark for the time being, I do, but you shouldn’t ignore them. Actually, I think you should text Scott and tell him you’ll meet him tomorrow.”

It’s not a friendly advice, it’s an order.

 

\+ + +

 

His dad is right, though.

Ignoring his friends, especially Scott, isn’t the right way to do this. If anything, it would make them suspicious, and that’s a risk he can’t and won’t take. But more importantly, he feels bad for making his dad into his (unwilling) accomplice.

Not Peter though.

The werewolf is completely comfortable with lying to people, and damn good at it.

It’s a skill Stiles both admires and hates in him.

It makes him dangerous, but also perfect.

Well, at least perfect for the task Stiles had assigned him to.

After getting rid of his clothes Stiles steps into his shower and turns on the tap, sighing in pleasure when the hot water hits his body. He is stiff, his muscles tied in knots. Of course, he knew beforehand that today was going to be taxing, leaving him aching all over and utterly depleted. Unlike a real shifter, the change doesn’t come naturally to him. He has to use magic, and a lot of it. Sometimes it feels like more than he actually possesses, but he blames that on his inexperience. Or rather he hopes that’s the case. It would really suck if he wouldn’t find a way to counteract those side effects, or at least lessen them considerably.

Needless to say, Stiles is still surprised how quickly he had managed to master the skill of shape shifting, but for the most part he is proud. And why shouldn’t he? It only took him only two days.

What’s not surprising is the shape his subconscious chose. He doesn’t mind, though, especially since it could have been much worse. He could have transformed into a moth, only to be swatted by either his father or Peter. Well, more by the latter, since he had prepared his dad what to expect before he actually showed him.

Stiles stays under the shower until the water turns cold, which actually isn’t that long due to their shitty water heater. Maybe twenty minutes or so. He gets out and dries off, feeling much better. He quickly gets dressed and heads downstairs, grabbing his phone on the way out.

There is cup of tea and a sandwich waiting for him. He smiles at his dad, grateful for the small gesture. Sure, he just ate at Peter’s, but he is still hungry. Shifting really takes a lot of energy. Then again, he has always been a hungry boy.

Munching on his sandwich, Stiles checks his messages.

There are only three.

Two text messages, one from Scott and one from Isaac, asking how he is doing and when he will be back at school, and one voice message from Lydia, just telling him to check his emails. He doesn’t need more information. He knows what those will entail. A mountain of schoolwork. Stiles smiles nevertheless. It’s her way of showing him that she cares.

Stiles doesn’t know if he should feel disappointed or glad that he didn’t receive more messages. True, he isn’t particularly close to any of the other wolves, especially Jackson, but a part of him had expected to get a short message from Derek. After all, Stiles is supposed to be pack. Shouldn’t the Alpha make sure that he is okay in person, and not rely on second hand reports from his Betas?

This must be how Peter feels, being treated as a nuisance, an afterthought, and at the same time exploited for his sharp mind.

No wonder, Stiles sought him out instead of Derek.

Heaving a sigh, Stiles pushes the feelings of anger and disappointment aside and concentrates on the matter at hand.

First, he shoots Isaac a short message, assuring him that he is doing much better and that he will be back on Monday.

The curly-haired werewolf is his favorite next to Scott. Sure, they had their problems in the beginning, but after seeing him with Scott at the clinic, treating an abused and abandoned dog, it became clear that Isaac had only been acting out back then. What he craves above all else is approval and love, not power. As it turns out, Isaac is actually very shy, and probably the most cuddle-hungry wolf in the pack.

Smiling to himself, Stiles remembers how the Beta had reacted earlier in Derek’s loft. He’d tried his best not to show it, but Stiles didn’t miss the way he kept glancing at him and how his hands were clenching and unclenching, like he was itching to come over and pet Stiles, well pet the wolf.

They really should get him a puppy, but knowing Derek, he probably wouldn’t approve. And since he owns the loft, he naturally has the last word, not to mention that he is the Alpha.

Stiles rolls his eyes and refills his cup. Then he starts typing a message to Scott.

**Sorry, man, misplaced my phone and the battery died. Good news, though. My dad says it’s okay if I come over tomorrow.**

It’s a bit scary how easy it is to lie to his best friend. Hopefully, one day Scott will forgive him for it. It doesn’t take long that Stiles receives a reply. Of course, Scott is still awake, probably busy mooning over Alyson.

**_Awesome. When?_ **

**Practice is over at 4, right? How about 5ish? I bring snacks.**

**_Deal._ **

**Cool. Now go to bed. Coach will have your balls if your grades start to slip again.**

**_You’re right._ **

**Of course I’m right. See you tomorrow.**

**_See you tomorrow._ **

Stiles puts his phone down, feeling both guilty and relieved. “I’m going over to Scott’s tomorrow at five.”

“Good,” his father acknowledges with a nod. “I’m going to bed now. You are doing the clean up.”

“Sure thing, Dad,” Stiles laughs. “See you at breakfast.”

“I want bacon with my eggs.”

“We’ll see,” Stiles calls after him, getting up to do the dishes.

He goes to bed not long after, completely exhausted, physically and emotionally.

Lying to his best friend feels wrong. Aligning himself with Peter feels even more wrong, because it doesn’t. It probably doesn’t make sense to anybody else but him, but he _knows_ it’s the right choice. He can feel it in his bones.

Sure, Scott is brave and loyal and the best buddy anyone can hope for, but he lacks certain finesse. And so does Derek. Stiles hasn’t even considered confiding in someone else, not even Isaac. Well, perhaps in Lydia, and he is pretty certain she wouldn’t rat him out, but she would give him even more grief about his secretiveness than his dad.

A disgruntled dad he can deal with, but a pissed-off Lydia. Not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one is a bit shorter, but it’s just a filler. Next time there will be more Steter, although, I do prefer to call them Piles. As always, I’d like to hear, well read, your thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter dreams that night.

But not about flames licking at his skin, burning and scorching, hot air choking him, people he loves screaming in agony; dying.

No, he dreams about being on all fours, running through the woods. He can feel the air ruffling his black fur; the surroundings are rushing by him in a blur. He is fast, very fast. Well, certainly faster than the one chasing him. He is not afraid, though. He can tell this is just a game of playing tag, one that he is obviously winning.

Deep down he knows that this is just a dream, but he wants this. Desperately.

He wants to feel that extra spark of power again, the one that doesn’t make him a nuisance, but sets him apart from the pack for a different reason. But more importantly he wants to be free.

Panting, he slows down, giving his pursuer a chance to catch up. He sniffs the air. He can’t tell by scent where the other wolf is, but he can hear his heartbeat and his paws hitting the ground. It’s weird not being able to use his sense of smell. Well, he can. He can smell _everything_ else, but for some reason he can’t smell the other wolf, like he doesn’t have a scent.

It’s weird and a bit disconcerting, but nothing he can’t handle.

The other wolf is getting closer, and a few moments later he is being tackled. They tumble through the bushes, rolling through mud and leaves.

When Peter lands on his back, he is human again, and so is the other wolf. The only difference is, that he is stark naked while the boy above him is wearing sweatpants and a shirt.

“Gotcha!” Stiles laughs, not the least bit freaked out by his nudity.

If anything he rather seems to enjoy that …

 

\+ + +

 

For the first time in a long while Peter wakes up with a smile on his face, and a boner.

Well, okay, the latter isn’t an unusual occurrence. That happens quite often. He may not be a teenager anymore, but he is still a werewolf, and werewolves are known to have a strong sex drive.

The fact that he was dreaming about Stiles doesn’t really surprise him. It’s not the first time it happened, and it probably won’t be the last time either.

Why? Because Stiles fucking intrigues him, that’s why. Sure, most of the time he annoys him to no end, but not necessarily in a bad way. To tell the truth, Peter knew from the first moment he laid eyes on the boy that there was something special about him. He wouldn’t have offered him the Bite if he hadn’t deemed him worthy.

Worthy, and not just as a means to an end … but it’s a mute point now.

He still wants to bite him, though, and lick each and every mole on his body. Honestly, Peter can’t understand why no one seems to notice how gorgeous Stiles is, but _he_ certainly does.

It’s hard to miss how much the boy has changed in the past two years. For one, Stiles has finally gotten over his unhealthy obsession with a certain redhead. Not that Peter blames him. Lydia is a very attractive woman, smart and feisty. But he knows it would have never worked out between them. They are too much alike.

But more importantly, Stiles really has grown into himself. Gone are the childish buzz cut and the gangly limbs. Sure, he still isn’t as muscular as any of the werewolves, but he certainly filled out in all the right places. Well, as much as Peter can tell from the baggy clothes the boy is always wearing. But going by the pair of jeans Stiles was wearing last night, it’s obvious that he does have a nice ass.

So what if Peter fantasizes about him every now and again? It’s not like he is going to act on his attraction. Well, correction, he won’t make the first move, but he definitely wouldn’t refuse the boy if _he_ took the initiative. And if he did, Peter knows exactly where to start – showing him how to put that mouth of his to good use.

With that thought in mind, the werewolf gets out of bed and walks into his bathroom to take a long, hot shower and deal with his raging hard-on.

 

\+ + +

 

Peter is just on his second cup of coffee when his cell phone buzzes with an incoming message.

He doesn’t even need to check; he knows exactly who it’s from. Derek would call him, if he needed something. Or he’d just drop by. And none of the others would send him a text message out of the blue.

**My dad just left. Come over.**

Peter growls under his breath, not liking the tone. It’s not a polite request, it’s an order. No one orders him around.

**_And why would I do that? You need someone to take you for a walk?_ **

**Funny. But no. I’m going to save my strength for tomorrow. Which is what we need to talk about.**

True, they didn’t get around talking about the _plan_ last night. In fact, things had become a bit … strained between them after Stiles apologized for his participation in killing him. It wasn’t an empty phrase, though, he really meant it, but he didn’t say why he felt the sudden need to express his regret. And Peter didn’t ask.

Maybe some other time …

They talked a bit more about Stiles’ ancestry and about his new powers. Interestingly enough, Stiles was pretty forthcoming. Needless to say, Peter still has a lot of questions, but so does he. Apparently, the learning curve is very steep. On the other hand, knowing Stiles, he will make progress faster than anyone would in his situation.

Smirking, Peter types back. **_You mean the dumb idea to stake out every pool of water in the area._**

**I wouldn’t call it dumb, but yes, essentially I think it’s a waste of time and effort.**

**_And why is that?_ **

It takes longer for Stiles to type an answer than before, like he is thinking about how to phrase it or if he should answer it at all.

**Not over the phone. Will you come over? Please?**

Peter’s smirk widens. **_Well, since you are asking so nicely. Give me an hour._**

**Great. I leave the back door open.**

Peter refrains from responding this time, even though he has a couple of naughty retorts ready on his tongue, just chuckles.

He doesn’t rush to get ready, though. An hour is plenty of time. He reheats some of the leftover Chinese from last night and eats it while watching the news on TV. When he is done he calls Lucía, telling her that he doesn’t need her services today. She sounds very happy about that, telling him about her family from out of town coming to visit. He only half listens, but wishes her a good time anyway.

After brushing his teeth, he grabs his jacket and his keys, and leaves.

 

\+ + +

 

Peter parks his car a few blocks away from the Sheriff’s house, making the rest of the way on foot.

He doesn’t need anyone to tell to be covert, he knows better than to pull into their driveway. His car might not be as flashy as Derek’s Camaro, but its presence might still cause unwanted attention.

The backdoor is unlocked as promised, leading into a small pantry-like room and from there right into the kitchen, which is empty. And so is the living room. It’s not a surprise, though, Peter was able to pick Stiles’ steady heartbeat from outside. He is somewhere on the second floor, probably in his bedroom, and clearly unaware of his presence.

He should probably announce himself. It certainly would be the civil thing to do. But he doesn’t, and with good reason.

This is his first time in the Stilinski house, and who knows if he will get another chance. He just wants to take a few moments to get a feel of Stiles’ home, without being observed or judged. It’s mainly a werewolf thing, checking out uncharted territory. He doesn’t open any doors or drawers, just walks around the living and looks at the pictures. One in particular captures his attention.

It’s a typical family picture, one taken by a professional in a photo studio. The background is generic and kinda ugly, but the subjects are not.

The Sheriff is standing behind a chair, beaming proudly into the camera. There are quite few lines missing in his face, some of which he clearly gotten from raising his son. A beautiful woman with long, light brown hair is sitting in the chair, holding a bouncing baby. Of course, you couldn’t see it actually moving, but it’s easy to tell from the way she is holding him that she is having a hard time making her son sit still. But from the way she smiles she doesn’t mind, probably already used to Stiles’ hyperactivity.

They look so much alike – the same upturned nose and the moles – it’s kinda eerie. It must be rough for the Sheriff to look at his son every day and always be reminded of his late wife. Peter knows how that feels. After all, Derek looks so much like his mother, too, his dead sister.

Taking a deep breath, Peter shakes off the stifling feelings of grief and sorrow and makes his way towards the staircase.

 

\+ + +

 

He moves very quietly, practically sneaking upstairs.

Unfortunately the floorboard right outside Stiles’ bedroom creaks, effectively destroying his plan to catch the human off guard and scare the living crap out of him.

“Damn it,” he mutters.

“Hello Peter,” Stiles replies from inside the room, not hiding his amusement. He probably already knew before he made the noise that Peter was in the house.

The werewolf pushes open the door and finds the boy sitting on the floor with his laptop in his lap, surrounded by countless books and papers.

“Doing your homework?” Peter asks, casually leaning against the doorframe.

“Pfft,” Stiles snorts. “I finished that two hours ago.”

“It’s only half past eleven.”

“I’m up since six,” Stiles shrugs, feeling the need to elaborate when he looks up and sees the incredulous look Peter is wearing. “Yeah, I know. Pretty freaking weird for a teenager, especially one who doesn’t have to go to school at the moment … well what can I say, I don’t sleep much these days.”

“Me neither.” The words are out before Peter can stop himself.

There is a moment of awkward silence between them, like he isn’t the only one realizing that they just admitted to having a weakness. The reason behind their insomnia might be different, but still.

Strangely, it’s Stiles who is the first to recover, his voice calm and collected. “There is coffee in the kitchen, if you want some.”

“I’m fine,” Peter refuses, walking into the room right over to the see-through Lucite board. “What’s all this?”

“Oh, just something I like to do. Putting up all the clues, adding information as the investigation moves along … trying to see the big picture.”

“Like father, like son,” Peter comments, looking at the teen.

“I guess,” Stiles smiles, not looking or sounding smug just flattered. “He actually helped a lot, still is … well as much as he can.”

Peter nods in understanding. The Sheriff is taking a huge risk sharing all this sensitive information not only with his son but with a bunch of other teenagers as well, plus Derek and him. If word got out, he could lose his job, or worse. Not knowing what to say, Peter turns around to study the wall.

The centerpiece is a shapeless head, obviously representing the rusalka. Ordered around it are pictures of the three victims, underneath each one a list of information from their age to their occupation, as well as hobbies and the names of their closest friends. There are no connecting lines between the victims, no indication that they knew each other.

True, at first Peter didn’t want to get involved, but now, seeing all of this, he can’t help but feel curious. He wants to solve the case, if only to prove himself, and other, that he could.

“So, you wanted to talk about the plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love kudos, I really do, but I love comments even more. So, don’t be shy and leave me one.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV

The werewolf looks at him expectantly.

Stiles smiles and sets his laptop aside, waving his hand in invitation. Peter seems to get the message, taking a seat on Stiles’ desk chair. Of course, he is too mature to just drop down to the floor. Although, given the mess; all the papers and books scattered around, he can hardly blame Peter for taking the one seat that is empty aside from his bed. But that is still rumpled, just the way he left it this morning. Not that Stiles wants Peter to make himself comfortable there. Well, maybe some other time, under different circumstances … okay he is getting way ahead of himself. Like light years, because seriously, that’s never going to happen.

“Well, as I _indicated_ in my text message, I don’t think Derek’s plan is very practical. It could work, but I think the chances are rather slim. Especially since I’m pretty sure she doesn’t need a lake or swimming pool. Any body of water would do, as long as it’s large enough to drown someone in it.”

“So pretty much every bathtub in town …,” Peter remarks, pensively.

“Yeah.”

“I see your point, now. It’s too much area for us to cover.”

“Exactly. That’s why I came up with this,” Stiles says, reaching behind to retrieve a small satchel from a box.

“What is it?” the werewolf asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Stiles tries his best not to laugh at the sight. It’s not easy because it’s a really good look on him, kinda adorable even. Again … off topic. He can understand Peter’s reaction. Even to him the concoction smells like horse poop. It must be ten times worse for a werewolf.

“It’s a hex bag. They can be used for protection or to put a hex on someone.” Stiles explains, handing it to Peter for further examination. “This one, though, is meant for summoning spirits.”

Still making a face, the werewolf carefully sniffs at the hex bag. “Dandelion, a touch of tobacco and wormwood …,” he correctly identifies some of the ingredients, concluding, “and blood, but not yours.”

“No, it’s not. I managed to get a vial of blood from the latest victim. Don’t ask me how. I just hope it will work.”

“You hope?”

“Well, I’m still new at this,” Stiles reasons, not the least bit perturbed by Peter’s harsh tone of voice. “It’s the best I can do, for now.”

“Okay, your plan is to summon this thing, the rusalka, to the lake. Then what? Do you have an idea how to kill it?”

“Not yet,” Stiles allows, deliberately leaving out the part where he thinks killing her should be their last option. First and foremost he wants to stop her, and maybe talk to her, find out why she is doing this. “But I have to do something. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt or killed. And with you there and Derek, I think we can handle her. Or at least distract her long enough.”

“What’s the catch?” Peter presses, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest.

Stiles is not surprised by the question. This is why he chose him over everybody else. “Well, she is like a siren, charming her victims with her voice. I think her song actually works like a sedative. That’s why they didn’t fight back.”

“Which means Derek and I might become susceptible,” he surmises correctly.

“Yes.”

“But not you.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one immune to her … allure.”

“So, what are saying is you’re gonna use us as bait?” the werewolf’s eyes shine bright blue, but only for a second.

“Kinda,” Stiles confesses, smiling sheepishly.

He carefully gauges the werewolf’s reaction. It’s hard to tell if Peter is pissed or impressed by his boldness. Stiles thinks it’s a combination of both, which is probably a good thing. Sure, there is a knife right next to him, but he doubts he will be fast enough to actually us it. Peter might not be able to change him anymore, but he can still rip his throat out with his teeth or his claws.

The werewolf lets him stew in his own juices for two, agonizingly long minutes, probably enjoying himself immensely.

“Fine,” he finally agrees with a grumble. “But if I end up dead, I’m going to haunt your ass. For the rest of your life.”

It’s both a warning and a promise.

“I guess that’s fair,” Stiles concedes with a nonchalant shrug. “Although, you can always do what you did the last time …”

“I was wondering when you were going to bring that up,” Peter remarks, wryly. “True, I’m more familiar with magic than the rest of the pack, but my knowledge is still rudimentary at best.”

“I doubt that,” Stiles snorts. “Resurrection isn’t an easy thing to accomplish.”

“True, but it was a very special spell, one I came across years ago. You need to understand, Stiles, what I did was … a fluke, maybe even an accident. I doubt it will work a second time.”

Peter sounds sincere. And even though he doesn’t know the specifics, _yet_ , Stiles knows the circumstances had to be perfect for a spell of this magnitude to work out like it did. Things are different now. For one Peter isn’t an Alpha anymore, and secondly, there would be no one to assist him this time, knowing or unknowingly. Well, okay, Stiles might be inclined to help, _might_ being the operative word. He no longer wants the older Hale dead. He enjoys spending time with him, slowly but surely getting to know him better, but Stiles would never mess around with nature like that. Granted, he still has a lot to learn about his new powers, but he knows this much. Bringing people back from the dead is just wrong, and quite frankly he fears the consequences of pissing off Mother Nature.

“Will you show me the spell?”

“Maybe,” Peter muses, “If we make it through the new moon in one piece.”

“Fair enough,” he says again.

 

\+ + +

 

The next few hours practically fly by.

They go over every detail of the police investigation, again and again. Needless to say, they don’t make any progress but they bounce some ideas back and forth. It’s interesting, to say the least.

Afterwards Peter retakes his seat in Stiles’ desk chair, religiously studying the few pages Stiles has managed to translate so far. They tell stories about their newest nemesis, a few of them are even eye witness reports of other vedmaks. It’s not much, but enough to keep the werewolf busy for another hour, while Stiles makes another batch of summoning potion in the kitchen. One hex bag wouldn’t do them much good. The lake may not be that big, but in order for it to have even the slightest chance to work they have to burn four hex bags, one for each cardinal direction.

Stiles just finishes with the last bag, when his eyes slide over the clock on the microwave. It’s almost half past four.

“Shit,” he exclaims, quickly gathering his stuff together and hurrying upstairs. “You need to leave. I have to get ready.”

“Ready for what?” Peter looks up, a half eaten piece of Red Vines hanging from his mouths. He looks so young, and really adorable. Again with the unhealthy obsession …

“I’m going over to Scott’s. Hang out, you know, spend some quality bro time.”

“That’s good,” he sounds just like his dad, effectively eradicating any untoward thoughts. Stiles certainly doesn’t have any daddy issues. “You should definitely take a shower before you go over there.”

“Why?” Stiles frowns.

“Because you smell like me.”

“Why would I smell like you? We haven’t even touched.”

Peter cocks his head in consideration, smirking devilishly. “Is that something you would like us to do?”

Stiles blushes, spluttering, “No, of course I don’t want that.”

“Do you know what I heard just now? Your heartbeat beating slightly faster over the words **I don’t want**.”

Stiles is caught between surprise and irritation. Those are the exact same words Peter had thrown at him after he rejected the Bite. “Is that your answer for everything?”

“No,” Peter simply says, already getting on his feet. “Just pointing out the obvious. I’ll see you tomorrow. Be at my place an hour before sunset.”

“You are not the boss of me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Peter chuckles, leaving the room without another word, not even a goodbye.

Typically, but it’s probably for the better.

 

\+ + +

 

“Hey Scott.”

“Hey,” the werewolf replies, ushering Stiles into the house. “Dude, you look so much better.”

“Thanks. I’m pushing back quite nicely, you know, for a human. Tell your mom, the cream she gave me has been working wonders. The scratches are almost gone.”

It’s a lie. Well, more or less. Sure, Stiles is still using the cream, because it’s really nice stuff, but he wouldn’t have healed by now if it hadn’t been for the little extra assistance. After moving the chest into his room he went through the entire trunk. Aside from the books and journals he found numerous glass jars filled with herbs. At first, he considered throwing everything away. The herbs should be no longer be useful, but when he opened the first jar he discovered they were still fresh. Apparently his grandmother had put a stasis spell on everything in the chest. Even the books don’t have any yellowed pages.

Anyway, they settle down on the living room couch and Scott brings him up to speed. Sure, it’s unnecessary since Stiles has been present at the pack meeting, but Scott doesn’t know that. Stiles makes a few pointed comments, as always, in order to keep up appearances, but he withholds any information about the rusalka. He decides to leave that part up to Peter. With the library he owns it isn’t that much of a stretch that he could stumble upon the name by sheer coincidence. It’s not like nobody knows about their existence. Even Wikipedia has a small entry about them.

On Stiles’ insistence they put an end to the discussion pretty quickly. Constantly lying to his friends is starting to give him a migraine. The werewolf doesn’t seem to mind, though. Not the lying part. Strangely enough Scott is completely oblivious about that, but he is happy to change the subject. He rambles about school and lacrosse practice while helping Stiles set up his Xbox. They are just halfway through their first game when someone knocks on the front door.

Scott doesn’t look surprised by the interruption, more like he has been expecting it to happen sooner or later. He puts the game on pause, getting on his feet. “I hope you don’t mind, I told Isaac that you were coming over. He insisted on dropping by.”

“Of course not,” Stiles snorts, rolling his eyes for good measure. “Just let him in already before he kicks down your door.”

Following his order like the puppy he is, Scott walks over to the door and lets the other werewolf inside.

“Hey Stiles. Nice to see you up and about,” Isaac greets him, clapping him on the back, before dropping on the couch right next to him.

“Right back at you,” Stiles smiles. “Nice scarf.”

“Thanks,” Isaac grins back.

They take turns playing against each other. Stiles might be a little of his game given all the recent distractions, but he still manages to kick both their asses.

“Did Scott tell you about Peter?” Isaac asks out of the blue.

“What about him?” Stiles frowns.

“He has a pet now.”

“Let me guess, a cat?” he jokes, playing dumb. “He seems like a cat person, considering what a creepy loner he is.”

“No,” Isaac laughs. “It’s a wolf. Weird, right?”

“It’s disgusting that’s what it is,” Scott grumbles. “Wolves are not pets. They should be living in the wild, among their own kind.”

“Wolf, werewolf … what’s the difference,” Stiles shrugs, earning himself a stern look from Scott. “Did he tell you where he got it from?”

“No, and I didn’t ask,” Scott scowls, sounding like he is angrier with himself right now. Stiles makes a mental note to give Peter the heads-up. He really should come up with a good explanation; otherwise Scott might actually sic the wildlife service on him.

“It’s a beautiful animal, though, light-brown with a small strip of white on his left hind leg …,” Isaac trails off.

“Wow, it sounds like you are in love,” Stiles snickers, feeling more amused than embarrassed. He might be blushing a bit, though, even though the curly head is raving about Stiles’ alter ego and not him. Details …

“Maybe,” Isaac mumbles, matching his blush with one of his own.

“Can we please stop talking about that stupid wolf?” Scott groans.

“Fine,” Stiles sighs, trying his best not to take it personally. “I’m hungry. Let’s order some pizza.”


	7. Chapter 7

Peter leaves the house the same way he came in, through the backdoor, without making any noise or drawing even the slightest attention of any of the neighbors. Of course, it’s a little trickier now that most of them are at home, but not impossible, especially not for a werewolf like him.

He strolls back to his car and gets behind the wheel. But instead of driving straight back to his apartment, he makes a U-turn and drives in the other direction. A few minutes later he stops by a small family diner. Sure, he could easily order something in, like he usually does, but he has plans.

Well, _a_ plan.

There is something the werewolf wants to do first before returning home and retiring for the night.

Thankfully, the diner is not packed. There are a few empty tables left. Peter chooses the one in the furthest corner, which provides privacy as well as a good view over the entire room. He orders a double cheeseburger and a large basket of curly fries. After having nothing but a few sweets for lunch, he is quite hungry.

The food is good, way better than at one of those fast-food chains. He makes a mental note to come here again at some other time, maybe invite Stiles along, knowing how much the boy loves greasy food, especially curly fries. Or maybe not. It might send the wrong message.

Peter takes his time, eating slowing, savoring each bite. He even orders a cup of coffee and a piece of homemade cheery pie as desert. It’s not that he is in any hurry to be anywhere. As a matter of fact, it probably would be more prudent if he’d wait for nightfall, but since it’s almost six it should be safe to venture over there. After all, it’s Friday, and everybody, even the geek squad, should have vacated the building by now.

Eventually he asks for the check, adding a generous tip to the bill, and leaves.

Just like earlier that day, Peter parks his car two streets away, making the rest of the way on foot. The parking lot is empty except for one car. He can detect two heartbeats, though, both of them somewhere on the second level. One of them certainly belongs to the janitor, doing his rounds, checking if the cleaning crew forgot to empty the trash cans, etc. The other is probably a teacher who decided to hang behind, preferring to grade papers at school rather than at home … but, who cares.

Peter sneaks inside the building. Sure, he could have used the external entrance, the one hidden underneath the sign spelling Beacon Hills High School in large letters, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. Better safe than sorry. And it’s not like he is breaking and entering. The vault has been there long before the High School was built. One entrance had been added, the other one simply adjusted. As far as he is concerned he has every right to be here.

Even though he has never used it before, Peter quickly finds the right hallway, leading up to the underground entrance. There is a metal rack blocking the way, but it’s only a nuisance not a hindrance. Careful to not make too much noise, he pushes the rack aside, revealing the doorway. Without any further delay he inserts his claws into the wall grade and twists. The door opens with a hiss.

The air inside the vault is dry and stale, void of any familiar scents.

Nobody has been here in years.

Not even Derek.

It’s both a relief and a surprise.

Sure, he didn’t expect his nephew to seek out the place as soon as he got back into town, but that was almost two years ago. Then again, he hadn’t been here either.

After he woke up from the coma Peter thought about it. Of course, he did. It was where all of their prized possessions were stored away, safe from everybody, only accessible by someone with Hale DNA. But he had been distracted, driven by his rampant need to hunt down and kill the people responsible for his pack’s demise. Well, most of his pack. And after his miraculous resurrection he decided to concentrate on the future instead of indulging in reminiscences. Which means unless he doesn’t have another choice he tries his best to stay clear of everything remotely related to the fire and his family.

It’s a work in progress.

Peter quickly finds what he came here for. Not daring to linger any longer than he needs to, he exits the vault the way he came in, and leaves the premises.

 

\+ + +

 

It’s a little after seven when Peter and Stiles make their way towards the preserve, or more precisely towards the lake behind the Hale house. The sun is still halfway up, peaking through the clouds, a slight breeze rustling the leaves in the trees.

It’s a nice night.

Well, it would be, if it weren’t for the reason they came here for – to hunt down yet another supernatural creature. Maybe he should leave Beacon Hills and settle down somewhere else, somewhere far away from this place which draws in supernatural beings, indiscriminately, incessantly, predictably. Like moths to a flame. But who is he kidding? Only himself. He may not care much about the humans in this town, if at all, but he does care about protecting what is his.

And he certainly does enjoy the rare opportunities when he is _allowed_ to give into his feral side.

Peter silently follows Stiles’ lead. He doesn’t interfere with the ritual, just watching the boy doing his thing. They begin in the east, walking around the lake like the sun wanders.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Stiles sighs, lighting up the last of the four hex bags. Curiously enough, the smell of them burning is a lot easier to tolerate. It fades away rather quickly, too, which is good, he supposes. No need to make Derek more suspicious of him than he already is.

“It is,” Peter agrees, somewhat wistfully. “We used to go skinny dipping here every summer.”

Stiles doesn’t make a remark, snide or otherwise, just hums. It’s obvious though that he is not unaffected by the mental image Peter just managed to implant into his mind. Unintentionally, of course.

“You are blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“I may not be back to full strength, but I’m not blind or deaf,” Peter points out, smirking at the red-faced teenager. “You didn’t by any chance picture me getting all naked and wet? Or was it my nephew?”

“Oh my God, never!” Stiles exclaims, sounding actually appalled by that idea.

Peter doesn’t know if he should feel offended, after all, the boy just managed to insult his own genes, if only by proxy, or amused. He settles for a combination of both.

“You don’t think Derek is attractive?”

Stiles stares at him for a moment or two, with his eyes narrowed, probably wondering where Peter is going with it. If he asked, Peter would be stuck for an answer, but thankfully he doesn’t.

“Well, I guess, he is, what with all those muscles, the scruffy beard and the green eyes,” the vedmak says, shrugging nonchalantly. It’s a simple statement, not a confession, and for some unknown reason it pleases Peter immensely. “But that doesn’t make him _attractive_ , at least not to me. Maybe if he dropped the scowl that seems to be carved into his face permanently every once in a while …”

Before Stiles can finish his sentence, Peter’s phone buzzes with an incoming message.

“Speak of the devil,” he huffs. “Derek’s at the house, waiting for me … well for us. You’d better change.”

 

\+ + +

 

The Alpha leans against the hood of his Camaro, his arms crossed over his chest, scowling.

Stiles is right. It’s not an attractive look.

“This is weird,” he greets Peter with a grunt.

“What? You and me working together?”

“Well, that too,” his nephew allows with a snort, “but I meant you and … _him_.”

Right next to him the wolf growls, clearly not liking the implication in Derek’s voice. Peter reaches down, scratching Stiles, well technically the wolf, behind the ears. The growl slowly but surely subsides, turning into something that almost sounds like a purr. Peter smirks.

“Why? I’m a wolf, he is a wolf. I don’t see a problem here. In fact, I think we make a pretty good team, right?” he addresses the wolf, receiving a huff and a lick as an answer which he interprets as a sign of agreement.

“How did you even find him?” Derek asks, watching their interaction with interest.

“I didn’t. He found me,” Peter says, completely telling the truth.

“Huh,” is Derek’s only response before he pushes off his car.

They walk around the lake five times. Every now and then Derek checks in with the rest of the pack, but there is no sight of the rusalka anywhere. Well, anywhere where the pack is. If Stiles is right – and Peter has no reason to doubt him – the water spirit could be at someone’s home waiting for her next victim to take a bath.

After two hours they finally call it a night. Derek leaves without so much as a decent goodbye, driving off in his beloved car to meet up with the rest of the pack at his loft. Sure, he asked Peter to tag along, but it didn’t feel like he actually meant it, so naturally the older werewolf declined.

“So much for my plan,” Stiles grumbles, stretching his arms above him.

Peter can hear his joints popping. He is just about to offer the boy a massage when something else is suddenly capturing his full attention.

“What is it?” Stiles asks, catching on fast.

“Can’t you hear it?” Peter counters.

“No. What is it?”

“It’s … _beautiful_.”

“Oh my God. She is here. It worked.”

Peter doesn’t hang around to congratulate Stiles on his first successful conjuring. He wants to, he really does, but he is already moving towards the lake. He barely even hears Stiles calling out his name. The desperate, pleading edge in his voice registers with him, but it’s not enough to persuade him.

The allure of the song is stronger, pulling him in …

 

\+ + +

 

He is under water.

It’s dark.

It’s cold.

And the pressure of the water is weighing him down.

Sure, Peter is a werewolf, both man and wolf at all times, a fact that will never change, but at this particular time of the month his human side is stronger. Or rather his wolf side is at its weakest.

He knows he will be drowning soon, but he doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t want to, not really. The rusalka is manipulating him, he can tell, well, the wolf can tell. His human side is completely under her spell, weak and utterly useless, and the water spirit seems to sense that, her mouth twisting into a vicious, almost victorious sneer. Her sharp claws dig deeper into his chest, one set right above his heart, the other into his upper right arm.

It hurts.

In fact, it goes beyond any pain he has ever felt, and that is saying something after everything he has been through. He can still remember what it feels like, being trapped in the burning house surrounded by a thin but impenetrable barrier of mountain ash. He can still hear the agonizing screams, his own moans of despair when he feels the family bonds sever, one after another, as members of his pack die in the blazing fire. It’s worse than the scorching heat on his skin, engulfing him.

He will never forgot the six years of sheer agony he spent alone in the hospital, again trapped, but this time inside his own mind, forced to relive that day over and over again.

No wonder he went batshit crazy.

All of a sudden the rusalka’s expression changes from a sneer to a frown, and then her claws move from his arm to his neck. He knows what she intends to do before she sinks her claws in.

He always thought it was a skill reserved for werewolves only, but clearly he was wrong.

Again.

Having experienced it more than once before, he kinda knows what to expect. He knows it’s technically a two-way street. Depending on the person’s intention, they can retrieve or implant memories, or if they are an Alpha they can even erase them completely.

Before he can prepare himself, his mind is assaulted with pictures and emotions … pictures and emotions that aren’t his, but hers. It’s like flipping through a thousand-page picture book at light speed. One image after another, accompanied by emotions he has been denying himself to feel for far too long.

Grief, despair, hope …

It’s too much.

The water pressure, the pain, his lungs screaming for oxygen … everything ….

He can feel himself losing the strength to fight back, what little he had to begin with.

Just like that everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger … well not really *grins*. Leave me some love, or hate, if you must.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV

Stiles wants to jump up and down like a five-year-old, bump his fist in the air and yell ‘eureka’. Maybe add a little victory dance for good measure.

Sure, it’s silly, but why shouldn’t he? His first summoning spell had worked, with some delay, sure, but still, it had worked. And it’s not like Peter is the type to high-five or bump fists like he used to do with Scott …

Unfortunately, his sense of achievement is short-lived. The way Peter is acting can mean only one thing. The rusalka is here, working her charm on him. Even straining his ears, Stiles still can’t hear her song. But going by the enraptured look on the werewolf’s face it must be quite something, and clearly impossible to ignore.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he swears, running after Peter. He keeps calling out his name but to no avail. The werewolf doesn’t hear him; or rather he doesn’t want to hear him.

By the time the vedmak reaches the lake Peter is nowhere to be seen, which means he is already fully submerged. He can’t see the rusalka either but he can sense her presence now. Stiles frantically scans the lake looking for any movement, but due to the lack of moonlight it’s too dark for his human eyes to make out any details, or pinpoint their exact location in the water.

Well, that is until a strange light suddenly starts to illuminate part of the lake. It’s coming from under the water, getting brighter by the second. Stiles knows he is not responsible for it, so it must be the water spirit. Whether she is doing it on purpose or not, he is glad for the assistance.

For a second Stiles considers calling Derek back, but he quickly dismisses that thought. It would screw up his plan. Sure, he doesn’t have any intention to keep his new powers a secret forever, but for the moment he isn’t ready to reveal himself to anyone else in the pack, least of all to the Alpha. And maybe it’s childish, stupid even, but Stiles has his reasons.

He wants to prove himself first. He wants to solve this mystery without the pack, or at least with limited meddling from them. He wants to show them that he has more to offer than just his wit.

And he wants to give Peter the same chance.

Everybody still thinks he is up to something, planning his next move, waiting for his chance to screw them over, to overthrow Derek and steal his power and become the Alpha again. But they are wrong. He may not be the saint of the year, but he isn’t the same homicidal maniac he used to be. He is still a dick, most of the time, but then again so is Jackson. And he had been forgiven. So why shouldn’t Peter deserve the same?

Either way, there might not be enough time to recall Derek anyway.

Stiles can’t see any ripples, so Peter must have gone under a while ago. And maybe werewolves are able to survive under water longer than the average human, but even they will run out of strength, and more importantly out of air eventually. There is no time to wait for reinforcements. He has to act now.

Taking a deep breath, steeling himself for the task at hand, Stiles kicks off his shoes and walks into the lake.

 

\+ + +

 

The water is extremely cold and the ground is very slippery.

Funny enough, the latter is easy to deal with, the former … not so much. Sure, he could simply distract himself by pretending to be at a warm, sunny beach, preferably somewhere with palms and lots of fruity drinks with those little umbrella thingies, but Stiles knows he needs to stay focused if he wants to save the werewolf’s life. Try as he might, ignoring the biting temperature of the water isn’t really an option either, especially since he has to get more than just his feet wet to accomplish his goal.

Knowing it’s unavoidable and certainly not going to be any easier if he takes his time – time he actually doesn’t have – Stiles takes the plunge, submerging his body all at once. To say that it’s a shock is putting it lightly. It hurts like a bitch, like a thousand needles are stabbed into his skin, and he hates needles, but by now he knows how to deal with the necessary evil, how to endure pain, especially when there are lives at stake.

Stiles immediately starts swimming the crawl, quickly covering the distance between the shore and the well-lit spot near the centre of the lake. He may not be good enough at Lacrosse to make first line, but he has always been an excellent swimmer. The only reason why he didn’t join the school’s swim team was Jackson. Having to deal with him as one team captain is already more than he can handle.

He hovers only for a few seconds, closing his eyes and mumbling the words he has memorized, pushing every ounce of strength he can spare into working his magic.

During his research Stiles stumbled across numerous spells, all of them defensive in nature. Clearly, vedmaks are pacifists. Well more or less. There are some spells that could technically be used either way, but most of them are mainly for protection. Not having enough time to study all of them in detail, he skimmed through the books, looking for something that would be helpful in dealing with this particular menace.

Thankfully, he found one that would allow him to breathe under water, at least for a time. Needless to say, he had a full-on geek moment, followed by laughing fit when he figured out what the spell actually does. It sorta works like the Bubble-Head Charm Harry Potter used at the Triwizard Tournament. He tried it out a few times in his shower. Unfortunately, due to his inexperience, he only managed to make it work for three minutes at most, but hopefully that’s enough time to scare off the rusalka and rescue Peter.

Feeling the spell doing its thing, Stiles doesn’t waste more time and dives.

 

\+ + +

 

Thankfully, they are not very deep, just a few feet, suspended mid-water.

Peter doesn’t move at all, but his eyes are wide open, which means he is still conscious. For the moment at least. When Stiles moves closer he can tell that it’s probably not fear but pain the werewolf feels. The rusalka has her claws buried deep in his neck as well as in his chest. She is probably the one keeping them afloat, which isn’t a pleasant thought at all.

It’s hard to tell if either one of them is aware of his presence, but if they are, they decided to pay him no attention.

Not knowing if it would work or not, but never one for missing a chance to take a chance and try out the impossible, Stiles calls out to her. ‘Let him go. He is MINE.’

The rusalka breaks her eye contact with the werewolf, looking straight at Stiles. Clearly, she heard him just fine. ‘Is he now?’

Stiles ignores the snide remark. Maybe he has been overstating things, but it got her attention, and that’s all the counts. ‘He doesn’t mean you any harm.’

‘Maybe,’ the water spirit allows airily, narrowing her eyes, ‘But what about you?’

Stiles could lie. But what would be the point? Peter is still at her mercy, losing strength by the second. Telling the truth is always risky, but more often than not it’s the better way to deal with situations like these. ‘I want to stop you, yes, but I have no intention to kill you.’

The rusalka cocks her head, eying him suspiciously for a moment or two, and then she smiles. It’s not a warm, reassuring smile, just the opposite. It’s sardonic, kinda reminding him of Peter’s cunning smirks, which spells trouble, with a capital ‘T’.

‘You’ve tried it before and failed. But by all means …,’ she smirks, removing her claws from Peter’s limp body. ‘I’ll give you another chance.’

‘Thanks, that’s awfully kind of you,’ Stiles grumbles, catching the werewolf before he can sink.

‘See you both on the next new moon.’

The light around her is dimming, and then she is gone.

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles jumps at the opportunity and swims back to the surface, hauling Peter with him.

The werewolf isn’t taller than he is – in fact they are pretty much of the same height – but he is without doubt stronger, more built, which means he isn’t exactly a lightweight like Stiles. And since he is out cold, the vedmak has to do all the work. Then again, he had practice keeping a werewolf afloat, while trying his best to stay alive himself and not being slashed up by a homicidal lizard.

Good times!

Stiles breaches the water surface just in time. Struggling to keep them both alive is taxing in itself. Keeping his magic up at the same time is sheer impossible. Maybe one day he will be able to do it, but not today. Then again, he doesn’t need the magic bubble anymore.

The air is clear and cold, but Stiles barely notices the latter, thanks to the adrenaline pumping through his system. But being able to breathe in fresh air is a great relief, providing him with a much needed boost of energy. Rearranging Peter in his arms, making sure his head is above water, Stiles paddles with one arm and his feet, desperate to reach dry land. Naturally, it takes him longer than he likes, but eventually he makes it there. Using the last bit of his remaining strength, he drags the unconscious werewolf ashore, kneeling next to him.

“Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead,” Stiles implores, checking for a pulse.

Just like he feared, he can’t find one, but that doesn’t mean it’s too late. Luckily, he knows CPR.

“You better be awake the next time I put my lips on you,” Stiles grumbles, and then he goes to work.

It’s not easy, but he tries his best to concentrate solely on the task at hand, alternating between breathing air into Peter’s lungs and doing chest compressions. Thankfully, his efforts are quickly rewarded. Just when he intends to start on the forth cycle, Peter comes around.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Stiles drops back on his haunches. There may not be much else he can do right now other than keeping a watchful eye on the guy, but he can at least give him some space.

Coughing violently, the werewolf expels the water from his lungs. It’s not much, which is probably a good sign. And then, without any warning but not necessarily unexpected, Peter jolts into a sitting position and wolfs out. The whole shebang, claws, fangs and complete with his luminous blue eyes. He doesn’t howl, but growls. It’s not very loud but menacing enough to send cold shivers up and down Stiles’ spine. Of course, his reaction doesn’t go unnoticed, calling the werewolf’s full attention.

“Easy there, tiger. It’s just me,” Stiles exclaims, holding up his hands in defense. “She is gone now. You are safe.”

Luckily, the werewolf believes him, retracting his claws at once. The other signs of his Beta shape slowly fade away as well, except for the eyes. They stay bright blue and completely focused on the younger man.

Before Stiles realizes what’s happening, Peter grabs him by his neck and hauls him close, capturing his mouth in a hard, demanding kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to end it here, but I had to.


	9. Chapter 9

Warm, caramel eyes stare back at his cold, blue ones.

Peter can sense no fear or panic, just a twinge of concern coupled with a small dose of natural apprehension. Brave and smart as always. Still, something tells him that Stiles is more worried about Peter’s well-being than his own at the moment … which is a bit disconcerting, but not unwelcome.

It’s been a while since someone showed him compassion, or even a shred of kindness. Granted, after what he did he may not deserve it, but Peter is thankful Stiles is willing to give him a second chance. Sure, the boy is still cautious around him, but unlike the others at least he is trying to put the past behind them and move on.

Okay, that’s an understatement.

The werewolf doesn’t know exactly what happened after he heard the rusalka’s song. He just remembers bits and pieces, mostly feelings. First there’s curiosity, followed by intense longing, bordering on obsession, then biting cold wetness, helplessness and anger. Clearly, the rusalka lured him into the lake, keeping him under the water long enough to pass out. He has no recollection whatsoever how he ended up back on the shore, but given the fact that Stiles looks like a drowned rat, he must have gone after him and saved his sorry ass.

Peter is still a bit out of it, still trying to regain his full strength, but even though his wolf may hold the reins at the moment, he still knows what he is doing. Following his gut, and not known for passing up a golden opportunity, he shows his gratitude the only way he knows how.

Without a second thought Peter grabs Stiles by the neck and hauls him into a kiss.

Needless to say, Stiles is completely caught off guard. He flails and struggles against Peter’s hold, but just for a moment or two, before he gives in with a pleased sigh. It may not be the way either one of them had envisioned it to happen, but Stiles would only be fooling himself if he said he doesn’t want it.

Because he does, desperately; has been for a while.

Peter can smell and taste his longing. It’s intoxicating, pleasing his wolf to no end, as well as him.

The initial desperation wears off surprisingly fast, but just because the kiss is gentler now, doesn’t mean it’s less passionate. Not even close. Peter traces Stiles’ lips over and over again, until the vedmak opens his mouth, allowing the werewolf’s tongue inside. Stiles whimpers and clutches the werewolf’s shoulders for support.

It’s easy to tell that Stiles doesn’t have much experience. He lets Peter take the lead, and the werewolf is more than happy to show the boy what a real kiss is like. Stiles’ technique isn’t sloppy or over-eager like one might suspect, though. He isn’t exactly shy either. Just like always, he is curious and quick on the uptake, easily matching Peter’s tempo and figuring out what pleases both of them the most.

Far too soon for his liking, Peter has to break the kiss. Even for werewolves, breathing is a necessity. Despite the fact he is gasping for air Stiles whines in protest, clearly feeling the same way.

Smiling smugly, Peter nuzzles against Stiles’ neck. Again, the boy surprises him. Sure, Peter is basically just scenting him, but still, allowing him to lick and nip at his throat means something entirely different to a werewolf than it does to a human.

Peter groans in appreciation.

The boy smells like pure and clean. Well, for the most part. Whatever he did to get rid of the rusalka had left a small, but distinct residue of magic behind. The smell is not unpleasant. It complements his natural scent, which makes sense, since being a magic being is now a vital part of him. Actually, to tell the truth, he smells better than he used to, and now that their scents are mixed, even just a little bit … well, let’s just say, the werewolf likes that very much.

Feeling Stiles shiver against him, Peter pulls back reluctantly, finally letting go of the boy. He offers Stiles a hand and helps him to his feet. “Thank you.”

“My … my pleasure,” Stiles stammers, still slightly winded. He tries his best not letting the werewolf see how much the kiss had affected him. Sure, it’s completely futile, but hey, you never know if can get away with something until you’ll give it a try, right?

“The pleasure is all mine,” Peter chuckles. “But I wasn’t talking about the kiss … although I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. I meant the part about you coming to my rescue.”

“Oh that … You’re welcome,” Stile replies, nonchalantly. His heartbeat tells another story, though. “I couldn’t just leave you behind. After all, it was my fault that she got her claws into you.”

“True,” Peter concedes, sullenly. The part about him almost becoming the rusalka’s next victim still angers him, but he doesn’t blame Stiles. Not really anyway. After all, he agreed to play his part in the plan. “Next time you will be the bait.”

“Deal,” Stiles agrees, just playing along. They both know the rules of the game. Even if he wanted to Stiles couldn’t be the bait, which is good.

Someone has to hold the upper hand.

 

\+ + +

 

 

They walk back to Peter’s car in a hurry.

Sure, according to Stiles the rusalka isn’t going to make a reappearance until the next new moon, graciously granting them a reprieve to regroup and come up with a new plan, but they are both drenched to the bone. Peter may not be able to catch the sniffles or anything, but Stiles is probably going to get sick if they don’t change into dry clothes, and soon.

Fortunately, Stiles was smart enough to think ahead. Not that they actually planned to get wet, but they are dealing with a water spirit, so the odds were in their favor. Figuratively speaking.

Peter stashed his car far away from the Hale house, careful not to attract Derek’s attention. Even though Stiles hasn’t spent much time in it, his smell is still clinging to fabric of the passenger seat. His nephew may not be the most competent Alpha, but as a born wolf his senses are damn near perfect. He most likely would have picked up Stiles’ scent, which would have prompted questions neither one of them are ready to answer. The only reason why Derek didn’t catch even a slightest whiff was due to Stiles’ ability to mask his scent in his other form. Well, that and the fact that they hadn’t actually touched each other before.

At least not in human form.

The werewolf pops open the trunk, retrieves a dry set of clothes from his bag and gets changed, not even trying to sneak a peek while Stiles does the same a few feet away. He can tell that the boy is nervous, probably even more from the kiss than from his encounter with the rusalka.

Peter can relate.

Sure, for the most part he is still reeling from near drowning. How can he not? Feeling powerless, being completely at someone else’s mercy doesn’t sit well with him. It never has, not even before the fire. There is a reason why he always keeps everybody at arm’s length, why he never entrusts anyone with his life or his heart. Scheming isn’t just a silly quirk for him, it is essential.

‘It's important to always be two steps ahead because everything is temporary and nothing stays the same.’

Maybe it’s a bit paranoid, but his constant vigilance is the reason he is still alive. Not to mention his unwillingness to bind himself to anyone.

Of course, he had _relationships_ in the past. Well, more like acquaintances, but it has never bothered him that all of his relations with women and men were of the casual kind. He liked it that way. It was easy and safe. And it’s not like he has ever met someone who stimulated him more than just sexually.

Well, until now.

From the first moment they met, Peter knew Stiles was special, one of a kind. Smart, witty, brave to no end, and even though he would probably deny it, ruthlessly adamant if the occasion calls. He would fight to the death to protect his friends and family.

In a word, Stiles is everything the werewolf wants.

And yet, Peter feels just as unsure as the boy about their impromptu make-out session. Don’t misunderstand. He doesn’t regret taking a chance, acting on his instincts. He would do it again, in a heartbeat. But still, a part of him is worried. What if this is a fluke? What if the vedmak doesn’t really want him? Or worse, what if he does but it’s going to make Peter vulnerable, weak?

Stiles pulls him out of his reverie by carelessly dumping his wet clothes into the trunk. Peter doesn’t bother to comment. He simply closes the trunk.

“Give me the keys,” Stiles demands, holding out his right hand. It’s easy to tell that he won’t take no for an answer.

“If you dent my car or even only manage to scratch it, I’m going to kill you.” It’s empty threat. Kinda. Peter may not be as attached to his car as Derek is to his Camaro but he still likes it.

“I’ll try my best to stay clear of any obstacles,” Stiles remarks dryly, rolling his eyes for good measure. “Keys. Now.”

With a huff Peter hands them over. Then he walks around the car and gets into the passenger seat. He isn’t angry, or anything. Actually, he is kinda glad Stiles offered to drive, but that doesn’t mean he has to express his gratitude. Again.

Once per day is enough.

 

\+ + +

 

Halfway between the preserve and Peter’s apartment Stiles calls his father. The werewolf smirks when he uses the hands-free device. He doubts the boy is normally that responsible.

“Dad, it’s me.”

“I can see that. Are you okay?” the sheriff demands to know, sounding both relieved and angry. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. I left my phone in the car. But yes, I’m fine.”

The sheriff huffs in response, but it’s obvious that he is happy to hear that his son is uninjured. “We didn’t get any 911-calls. Did you find her?”

“Kinda,” Stiles grimaces. “My spell worked and we managed to lure her to the lake, but we didn’t catch her. Well, not exactly.”

Stiles quickly fills his father in on the rest, skimming over the details of Peter’s involvement. Not that there’s much to tell.

“So she is still out there?” the sheriff surmises.

“Unfortunately,” Stiles confirms, quickly adding, “But she won’t attack again until next month.”

“Well, that’s good,” the sheriff sighs, before suddenly changing the subject. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m driving Peter home.”

“Okay,” the sheriff grunts, clearly still not happy about his son’s involvement with the werewolf. “I’m off in an hour. I’ll pick you up.”

“About that …,” Stiles starts, his heart beating a little bit faster, “I think I should stay with him tonight. It’s my fault Peter kinda got caught in the middle, that he got hurt. I can’t just leave him.”

Peter doesn’t comment, even though he wants to make it clear that he is not some damsel in distress who needs to be looked after. Granted, he still feels a little off, but after some food and a good night’s sleep he is going to be right as rain again. He doesn’t need anyone to fuss over him.

“But you told me he can heal very fast? Being … well you know …,” the sheriff trails off.

“He does. But Dad, he almost drowned. I had to resuscitate him,” Stiles argues hotly, completely ignoring Peter’s growl and disapproving look. “I won’t leave him.”

“Fine,” the sheriff relents, probably only because he has no counterargument. Well, at least not a good one. “You can stay, but you will be home by 9 am tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes. I will be back bright and early,” Stiles promises, grinning broadly, but just for a moment.

“With donuts,” the sheriff adds, beating his son at his own game.

“Fine,” Stiles grumbles in defeat.

“And Peter?” the sheriff addresses the werewolf for the first time.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I just want to remind you that I own a gun and some of those special bullets. Don’t make me use them.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV
> 
> Warning: Read the new tags. There is a rape scene in here, but not descriptive.

Peter inserts the key into the lock and opens his door.

“Your neck is still red,” Stiles muses aloud, following the werewolf inside the apartment. “Does it hurt?”

“No. It just itches a little, but that’s normal,” Peter shrugs.

Maybe he is telling the truth. After all, werewolves are known to be able to recover from pretty much anything. And even though some wounds might take longer to heal and remain tender for a while they don’t leave scares, no visible ones at least.

Nevertheless, remembering the disgruntled look Peter gave him when Stiles told his dad that he got hurt, it’s hard to tell if the werewolf is just placating him and downplaying the seriousness of the situation or if he is actually telling the truth. Being at the disadvantage, or worse, dependent on someone else, clearly doesn’t sit well with the older Hale.

But Stiles gets it.

He understands why Peter has a hard time trusting people. The poor guy got burnt twice; literally. It’s a miracle he is still alive, or a nuisance, depending on whom you ask. And maybe Stiles would still be on the same page as everybody else if it weren’t for the sudden changes he is currently going through. Seriously, he still has trouble getting his head around the specifics. Sometimes he can’t believe it’s actually happening, wondering if it’s just a very vivid dream.

And sure, as far as the rest of the pack is concerned, Stiles is still the same fragile human. A constant pain in everyone’s ass who asks too many questions and never takes a simple ‘no’ for an answer. But if they knew they wouldn’t just roll their eyes at him and groan in exasperation. No, they would treat him like Peter, like an element of uncertainty, someone who couldn’t be trusted and should be feared.

That’s why Stiles decided to team up with Peter, because _basically_ they are in the same situation. Sure, the werewolf may beg to differ, may argue that he chose to be alone, but Stiles knows it’s just a front. He knows the werewolf is just using it as an excuse to avoid talking about what happened to him and how much it still affects him.

But Stiles knows better.

Peter bypasses the living room and goes straight into the kitchen, dumping his pile of wet clothes into the washing machine, motioning to Stiles to do the same. After adding a bit of liquid detergent the werewolf turns the dial and starts the machine.

“If you want to take a shower, the bathroom is down the hall on the left,” the werewolf suggests nonchalantly, adding, “Fresh towels are in the cupboard next to the sink.”

“Thanks for the offer. Maybe later. First I want to talk about what happened,” Stiles insists. When he sees Peter’s leering expression, he hurries to clarify. “What happened in the lake with the rusalka, not about the other thing …”

Of course, Stiles wants to know why Peter decided to kiss him, but that would also mean he’d have to talk about why he reciprocated the way he did, clinging to the werewolf and moaning like a desperate bitch in heat. And he isn’t quite ready to do that.

“Very well,” Peter shrugs, picking up the water kettle. “I’m going to make some tea. Do you want some or something else?”

“Tea sounds good,” Stiles mumbles, surprised but relieved that the werewolf dropped the subject at once. He knows sooner or later Peter will bring it up again, but until then Stiles is going to act like nothing happened.

“Why don’t you go into the living room and check your phone for messages? I’m pretty sure you got at least one. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, leaving the kitchen.

 

\+ + +

 

Peter was right.

He had two messages; one was from Scott, the other from Isaac. But contrary to his newest admirer, his (alleged) best friend didn’t have much to say. He only uses six words to tell Stiles what he already knows.

NOBODY GOT KILLED TONIGHT. THANK GOD.

Stiles isn’t really surprised, though. Scott is probably glad to have time to work on something equally as important as protecting the humans of Beacon Hills by hunting down monsters in the middle of the night, something maybe even more important, at least to him.

Aka his stupid plan to win back Allison.

It’s not like Stiles hates the Argent girl, but after what she did to Boyd, Erica, and Isaac; not to mention the rest of the pack, it’s hard to trust her. Sure, logically, he knows that Allison has been manipulated by her psychopathic, hypocrite extraordinaire grandfather, but still, it’s hard to put the past aside. And seriously, dating a hunter? Only Scott would be so foolish to do that.

Curiously enough, Isaac is more talkative.

NO SIGN OF THE CREATURE TONIGHT. ANYWHERE. WHICH IS GOOD ‘CAUSE NO-ONE GOT HURT, BUT IT’S WEIRD AND FUCKING ANNOYING. MAYBE NEXT TIME I SHOULD ASK DEREK TO PAIR ME UP WITH PETER. AT LEAST THEN I GET TO HAVE SOME FUN AND DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO SCOTT WHINE ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO. YOU THINK PETER WILL BRING THE WOLF TO THE NEXT PACK MEETING?

Stiles chuckles, loud enough to attract the werewolf’s attention, but Peter doesn’t ask what’s so funny, probably just thinking he is simply exchanging funny messages with Scott to pass the time. It’s a reasonable assumption. He and Isaac aren’t actually friends. Not yet anyway. But it looks like that’s going to change soon.

Naturally, Stiles is tempted to type back, COUNT ON IT, but he settles for WHY DON’T YOU ASK THE ZOMBIE WOLF?

Right on cue Peter enters the living room carrying two steaming mugs in one hand, and a bowl of sugar in the other.

Accepting his cup, Stiles grins. “I think I should warn you. Isaac might ask Derek to team him up with you for the next stake-out mission.”

“Why?” Peter asks, taking a seat in his armchair.

“I think he has a crush on me,” Stiles informs the werewolf, casually adding two spoons of sugar to his herbal tea, while simultaneously gauging the werewolf’s reaction. Unfortunately, Peter doesn’t rise to the bait, at least not noticeably. Still, Stiles feels the need to set things straight. “Well, on the wolf, I mean.”

Peter’s corner of his mouth twitches, like he is fighting a smile. “Understandably. Your wolf is beautiful.”

Stiles can’t help but blush at the compliment. Sure, Peter didn’t say that _he_ is beautiful, but hey, thinking that his new alter ego is, is half a win, right? And he kissed him, so he must be somewhat appealing in his human form.

“You wanted to talk about what happened with the rusalka,” Peter drawls, deliberately changing the subject. Or so it seems.

“Right,” Stiles agrees, leaning back. “What do you remember?”

“Not much,” Peter grumbles, clearly not happy about it. “She did something to me, but I can’t remember much. It’s all fuzzy.”

“I could check my books and see if there is a memory spell or something.”

“You could do that, or we could try something else.”

“Like what?” Stiles frowns, clearly sensing a ‘but’ coming.

“You saw that she had her claws in my neck, right? She didn’t do that for kicks and giggles. Okay, maybe she did enjoy causing me pain, but I think she mainly did it for another reason. It’s something I assumed only werewolves could do. Specifically Alphas.”

“Which is?” Stiles asks, not liking to be fed crumbs of information.

Peter, on the other hand, seems to enjoy it. “We use the same method to tap into people’s minds.”

“To do what?” Stiles presses.

“To extract memories. Well, that’s one purpose of the procedure. Basically, we can dig for, implant, or completely remove memories.”

“And that’s what she did. Sharing her memories with you,” Stiles surmises.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Peter shrugs.

“Is it dangerous?”

“It can be if you don’t know what you are doing,” Peter allows.

“But you do,” Stiles assumes.

“Kinda. I haven’t been taught how to do it, but I’ve been on the receiving end … more than once.”

Stiles wants to ask about the specifics, but something tells him Peter won’t answer him. But he believes him when he says he knows how it works, technically. And what other choice do they have? If she indeed showed Peter what happened to her, it could help in stopping her.

“I wanna try it.”

Peter doesn’t seem to be surprised, more like he expected Stiles to volunteer. “Are you now?”

“Yes,” Stiles states, his voice strong and unwavering. “I trust you.”

“Very well,” Peter says, getting up. “Let’s do this.”

 

\+ + +

 

“Take a seat,” Peter instructs, motioning to the chair he just brought from his kitchen.

Stiles immediately follows suit and straddles the chair, placing his hands onto the back.

“Try to relax. If you fight the process, it will do more harm than good. I will stop if I sense any complications. Ready?”

Stiles closes his eyes and nods his head in consent, bracing himself for the pain to come. But there is none. Well, almost none. It stings a bit when Peter inserts his sharp claws into his neck, but it doesn’t really hurt.

It feels weird, though. Like someone trying to poke into his mind with a hot fire iron, looking for access into his most inner thoughts. It’s true what Peter said. The more he struggles, the more it gets uncomfortable. He tells himself to calm down, to just let it happen and when he does, Stiles can see it happening right before his mind’s eye.

 

_A beautiful girl._

_She is young, around his age, sixteen, maybe seventeen years old._

_She is standing in front of a bathroom mirror, dressed in a yellow sundress. It goes well with her tanned skin, accentuating her natural beauty. She looks Hispanic with her dark eyes and long dark hair._

_She is nervous, but in a good way. Giddy and excited about going out and meeting new people, to have fun without parental supervision for the first time in her life._

_She takes the bus into town. Everything flies by so fast; Stiles cannot make out any details. It’s hard to tell where this all takes place. It could be somewhere in the vicinity of Beacon County, but it could also be a thousand miles away._

_She goes into a building. It’s a club, not an official one, more like some of those underground locations._

_She meets up with some people she seems to know, talks to them for some time before they split up. She follows two of them – a couple – on the dance floor and after that barely leaves it._

_She is definitely more talented than Stiles, moving gracefully to the rhythm of the music, whether it’s slow or upbeat. Before long she gathers some fans, all of them male._

_One in particular shows his interest._

_He is older than her, probably around thirty. He seems nice, but for some reason his face is not as clear as other things to Stiles, almost like she has been trying to erase him from her mind, like she doesn’t want to remember._

_He dances with her for what seems like hours, buys her drink after drink. She is getting tipsy fast._

_When it’s time for her to leave, he offers to give her a ride. She accepts, not even thinking about it._

_They are halfway to her home when he pulls over._

_She barely gets the chance to ask him why he stopped. He is on her a moment later, touching her everywhere, ripping her dress and her underwear._

_And then there is pain._

_So much pain._

_And fear._

_She begs him to stop, to let her go. She cries, calling out for her mother. She struggles, like everyone would in her position. She doesn’t want this, doesn’t want him to take her most precious gift, especially not against her will._

_But he doesn’t listen, calls her a slut, blaming her, saying that she is the one responsible, that she has been asking for it._

_Of course she denies it, but it doesn’t do her any good._

_A slap._

_Followed by a second. And a third._

_Her face hurts. Everything hurts. She cries even harder._

_He tells her to be quiet, moving roughly above her. He groans and moans, his face contorted into an ugly, monster-like mask._

_She wants to die._

_Wrapping his hands around her neck, he applies pressure and grants her wish._

_Then everything goes dark._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter's POV

Peter is not a touchy-feely kind of guy.

He never has been and never will be.

Even before the fire, when his numerous nieces and nephews were younger (and still alive), he never comforted them. Quite the opposite actually. Whenever they got sad or scared about some thing or another, even when they got hurt, he always told them that pain was part of life. That only those who stay strong and above such small obstacles would survive.

Back then he had no idea how right he was.

True, usually, he is more than happy to rub it in when he is right, but not in this case. If he’d had the power he would have saved his pack. Unfortunately, he only got the chance to avenge them. It isn’t much, but maybe, the best revenge is to be unlike the person who performed the injury …

Peter retracts his claws as carefully as he can, not wanting to cause the vedmak any more distress. As soon as the connection is broken, Stiles slumps forward against the back the chair. He is gasping for air and shaking like a leaf. He is clearly in shock.

The werewolf knows exactly why.

It wasn’t supposed to work like that but somehow Peter shared the vision. It’s like a two-way street had been opened, probably due to Stiles’ magic, allowing the werewolf to catch a glimpse of the rusalka’s last moments before she died. But that’s not all. He actually felt it, like he was the one being violated in the worst possible way.

Well, second worst, considering the werewolf knows how it feels to be set on fire.

Ignoring his own feelings of discomfort, Peter picks up Stiles and carries him to the couch. The boy clings to him, probably not even realizing what he is doing, but Peter doesn’t mind. He simply sits down with the vedmak in his lap.

“Breathe, Stiles, breathe,” he tells him, slowly rubbing the boy’s back in comfort. “That’s it, deep breaths, in and out.”

Stiles follows his instructions, calming down considerably but not completely.

“She was … she was raped,” he gasps, his voice breaking in the end.

“I know,” Peter growls, not even trying to hide his disgust. It’s probably written all over his face. He may be an arrogant, ruthless bastard, but he is no monster. He would never stoop so low as to force himself on a woman or a man. He doesn’t need to. He never had a problem finding a willing participant, but even if he did, he would never resort to rape.

“How could someone do something like that?” Stiles sniffles, loosening his tight grip on Peter. He pulls back slightly to look at the werewolf, like he has all the answers.

“How could someone set a house on fire with the intent to kill everyone inside?” Peter replies, evenly.

“People are evil,” Stiles huffs, gloomily.

“Some are,” Peter agrees.

“But that’s not what you consider yourself to be.” It’s half a question, half a statement.

“Do you?” Peter throws back, raising an eyebrow in question.

“No,” Stiles answers right away, not showing any sign that he is lying. “I may not agree with your methods, but I understand why you did what you did. Even Laura …”

Peter bites back a growl at the mention of his niece’s name. Killing Laura is the only thing he regrets. Somewhat. “We all have our reasons why we do things the way we do. Some act on vengeance, others on prejudice and fear.”

“But that’s not why HE did what he did,” Stiles points out, petulantly.

“No,” Peter shakes his head. “Maybe he didn’t plan it. Maybe he didn’t want to kill her. But in the end it doesn’t matter. He raped and killed the girl and there is no excuse for it.”

“Damn right,” Stiles agrees fiercely, adding with a sigh, “But at least we know what happened to her.”

“And it certainly explains her hate for men …,” Peter comments, dryly.

“I don’t think she is choosing her victims at random,” Stiles argues, fervently. “Maybe they saw something. Maybe they were there at the club or on the road and she blames them for not helping her. Maybe …”

“Maybe we should leave the ‘maybes’ for tomorrow,” Peter interrupts, slightly amused by Stiles’ enthusiasm, but too tired to go ten rounds of playing ‘what if’. “We don’t have to find all the answers tonight. We’ve got a month to get to the bottom of this.”

“You are right,” Stiles allows, climbing off Peter’s lap. Suddenly realizing what he’s been doing for the last few minutes, Stiles fidgets, acting all embarrassed. “Sorry about that … the cuddling, I mean.”

“No worries,” Peter smiles, probably enjoying the boy’s blush more than he should be. Instead of making a remark, snide or otherwise, he just waves him off. “Just go and take your shower.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Stiles salutes, quickly disappearing down the hall.

 

\+ + +

 

While Stiles is in the bathroom, Peter doesn’t just sit around, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for the boy to finish his shower.

He doesn’t fantasize about him either.

Of course not.

No, instead Peter goes and retrieves a notepad and a pencil from his desk. It’s been a while since he’s done this, but considering the memories are still fresh in his mind and he has nothing better to do at the moment, Peter figures he could give it a try.

He is half done, when Stiles makes his return to the living room.

Peter looks up from his work, having a hard time controlling his reaction. He wants to growl, but thankfully he has enough control to suppress the urge. Just barely, though.

Of course his wolf approves. For one, the boy smells like his beauty products, which means he smells a lot like Peter. Secondly, Stiles isn’t fully dressed. Sure, he is still wearing his boxers and his shirt, but he didn’t put his pants and his socks back on. Dealing with bare feet is one thing, but seeing the boy’s naked legs for the first time … well that’s something entirely different.

The werewolf always suspected Stiles was hiding _something_ underneath his baggy clothes, but he wasn’t expecting _this_. Strong legs, perfectly shaped, sparsely haired and covered with quite a few beauty spots. True, he knows Stiles is part of the Lacrosse team. And then there is all the extracurricular work he does, which both includes a lot of running, but still. Peter isn’t prepared for the sight.

“What are you doing?” the vedmak asks, casually walking over. Or rather, he is trying to act all casual. It’s obvious to the werewolf that Stiles is feeling slightly exposed. Then again, nobody forced him to come back half-naked. On the other hand, maybe he did it on purpose, testing Peter, who knows.

Trying his best to ignore his wolf, Peter answers Stiles’ question. “I’m making a sketch of the rusalka, the girl, I mean, something for your dad to help him search the system. She may not be from around here, but someone, somewhere must have reported her missing.”

“I didn’t know you could draw,” Stiles says, obviously surprised, but in a good way.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Peter remarks, smiling.

“It’s really good,” Stiles commends, ignoring the jibe. He takes a seat right next to Peter and watches him finish the sketch. He makes suggestions every now and then, but Peter doesn’t mind. He just implements the changes.

A few minutes later Peter is done. He drops the notepad on the table, stretches and yawns. “It’s late. Come on, I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

Without objection Stiles follows Peter into the bedroom. “You can have my bed. I will sleep on the couch. You can borrow a shirt to sleep in, if you want.”

“First you kiss me, now you want me to wear your clothes. What’s next?” Stiles jokes without thinking. He is probably not expecting an answer, but receives one anyway.

“I have a few ideas and I’m sure you would enjoy them just as much as the kiss; probably even more …,” Peter leers, his eyes burning bright blue for a second. “But we both need rest. Not to mention that your father made it very clear that he isn’t very fond of the idea of us spending any _quality_ time together. And even though I’m great at surviving, I don’t like getting shot.”

“Who does,” Stiles mumbles, starting to fidget again. “Then again, what my dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him … or you. And your bed is big enough for the both of us …”

“Are you asking me to sleep with you?” Peter asks, acting all shocked.

“No,” Stiles exclaims, blushing beautifully. “Of course not.”

“That’s what it sounded like,” Peter points out, greatly enjoying Stiles’ discomfort.

“No, I just meant, you don’t need to sleep on the couch since your bed is so big …”

“I know,” Peter says, taking pity on the boy, and on himself. He doesn’t really want to sleep on the couch, and not because it’s uncomfortable or something. No, he just wants to take every chance he gets to be close to the boy, even if that makes him a desperate fool and a creep. So sue him. “By all means, I’m fine with sharing my bed. But just so you know, the left side is mine.”

“Gotcha,” Stiles replies with a sharp nod and a grin.

Peter turns around, hiding his own smile. No need for the boy to see how pleased he is. He opens a drawer and retrieves one of his older shirts, one he only uses to sleep in nowadays. It’s worn and drenched in his scent, despite the fact that’s clean. “Here. This should fit you.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, accepting the shirt.

“No need to thank me,” Peter shrugs, acting all nonchalant. Clearly, Stiles doesn’t understand the whole concept of sharing clothes with a werewolf. Well, at least not completely. “I’m going to take a quick shower myself, which should give you enough time to get changed and make yourself comfortable.”

Stiles only nods, clearly too nervous to come up with a snappy remark. Instead of teasing him some more, Peter just barks out a laugh and leaves.

 

\+ + +

 

When Peter returns ten minutes later, Stiles is already asleep.

Or he is very good at pretending.

It’s hard to tell.

His breathing is slow and even, and he makes no sign that he is aware of Peter’s presence. The boy probably was out cold as soon as he hit the pillow, too exhausted to await Peter’s return.

But that’s okay.

The werewolf drops his clothes in the hamper, and then he climbs into the bed. Unlike the vedmak he is only wearing his briefs, though that’s just out of courtesy. Usually he sleeps in the buff.

Peter lies down on his back and closes his eyes.

Falling asleep next to another person is still something the werewolf doesn’t feel comfortable with. In fact, it’s always been an issue for him. Sure, he doesn’t have exactly a lot of practice. Whenever he had sex he always met his partners in a hotel or at their place. He’s never considered bringing them home. And he’s never ever accepted their invitation to stay over.

Sleeping next to another person means letting down your guard, completely, and he doesn’t trust anyone enough to do that, not even in his waking state.

Well, except for Stiles.

Sure, he is still a mystery to the werewolf, but he is no longer a threat. Well, that’s what he _hopes_ , but it’s enough for Peter to fall asleep.

He doesn’t dream, rarely does these days, something he is glad about, because if he did he’d probably dream about the fire, and he certainly doesn’t need nightmares to remind him of the worst night of his life. He can practically see it happening every time he closes his eyes.

Peter should have known that Stiles is a restless sleeper, constantly moving around and mumbling in his sleep. It’s mostly nonsense and not enough to keep the werewolf awake, but enough to annoy him.

After the third time he gets kicked in the shins and nearly slapped in the face, Peter wraps his arms tightly around the sleeping boy, spooning him from behind. Stiles makes a noise, but it’s not a complaint. It sounds more like a sigh in relief, like he has been waiting for Peter to do just that.

Smirking, Peter goes back to sleep.

When he wakes again, the sun is peeking through the curtain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts? Or suggestions? Or complaints?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV.
> 
> A bit of a time jump, but just one day. Don’t worry there is a flashback in here dealing with the boys waking up all tangled up in each other … after all it’s time this story earns its rating. Enjoy!

Stiles pulls into the school’s parking lot, searching for a spot to park his beloved jeep in.

He is late on his first day back, but what else is new.

Just to be clear, he didn’t oversleep. He just had a million things to do before he was ready to leave for school. Important things. Things that couldn’t wait.

Unfortunately due to his lateness, Stiles has no choice but to park a bit farther away than he likes. Grabbing his backpack, he jumps out of his jeep and makes a run for it. He barely makes it to his first class before the final bell rings.

He is glad, but Harris … well, not so much. He doesn’t look happy to see Stiles, far from it actually. Then again he is never happy to see him, or anyone else for that matter. Why this guy chose to become a high school teacher is still beyond Stiles. The vedmak doesn’t waste any time, taking the first free seat he finds, which isn’t next to Scott but next to some girl whose name he doesn’t know. It’s not that he hasn’t seen her before. He has. He just doesn’t remember her name. Maybe that makes him a bad person, but hey, people rarely remember his name either.

Stiles shoots his friend a quick, apologetic smile before turning his full attention towards the front, aka his chem teacher.

Harris seems as obnoxious as ever, but there is something about him that makes Stiles’ skin itch. Well, more than it usually does. Harris looks the same but he acts somewhat differently. He seems to be … on edge. Maybe he’s just having a particularly bad day. Most people hate Mondays, and without a doubt Harris is no exception to that rule.

But _something_ tells Stiles, there is more to it.

He tries his best to ignore the nagging feeling in his gut, though. For one, he doesn’t want to take any chances. Getting detention is the last thing he can afford right now. And secondly, despite the substantial progress he has been making in such a short time, he still doesn’t trust his new powers completely. After all, considering their history, Stiles could just be seeing things, misinterpreting signs.

It takes some effort, but Stiles makes it through Chem and his next three classes without incident. He even manages to take notes despite the fact that his mind is miles away, not to mention that his fingers are busy shooting Peter text message after text message when no one is looking in his direction. Naturally, most of them remain unanswered. Clearly, the werewolf doesn’t appreciate being pestered about half-hourly updates.

Figures.

When it’s time for lunch, Stiles doesn’t go into the cafeteria to meet up with Scott and the rest of the pack, but makes a beeline for the vending machine outside of the library. He buys a bag of cheese crackers, a power bar and a soda can. Not the healthiest lunch, true, but then again he isn’t that hungry.

For a moment Stiles considers going into the library and finding a quiet place, but considering the librarian is just as eager as Mr. Harris to give students detention for disrespecting the rules, he disregards the idea and slips out the back door instead.

The lacrosse field is empty and so are the stands. He drops on the bench he usually sits on during the games. It feels like coming home, at least it does to his ass. He pulls out his phone and searches for the right number. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to hit dial, because suddenly there is a shadow towering over him, demanding his full attention.

“Hey Stiles,” Isaac greets him with a grin.

Stiles reacts as expected with a startled yelp and a slip of his finger. The screen of his phone immediately turns dark. Okay, _that_ bit isn’t completely unintentional. In fact, it’s more than a reflex reaction, it’s a necessity. From the looks of it, Isaac doesn’t suspect anything amiss. Clearly, he didn’t see who Stiles was trying to call, which is good. He is so not ready to explain his … relationship with Peter to anyone.

“It’s great to have you back, man.” Isaac proclaims, taking a seat right next to the vedmak without an invitation whatsoever. Not that Stiles minds, but still, the nerve of these werewolves, sneaking up on people, invading your personal space, doing things you didn’t ask for …

“Thanks,” Stiles replies, pocketing his phone. “Did Scott send you to find me?”

“No,” Isaac says, grimacing slightly. “I doubt that he is even aware that you and I are missing. He is too busy talking to Allison. Apparently her dad agreed to have him over for family dinner on Friday.”

“Good luck with that,” Stiles mumbles, feeling a bit left out. Then again, he doesn’t have any right to complain. He isn’t exactly forthcoming these days either.

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees, grumpily. “Argent may not mean us any harm anymore, but come on; Scott is clearly pushing his luck.”

“I’m with you there,” Stiles mumbles, adding with a shrug, “But as they say, love knows no reason.”

“Funny you’d say that,” Isaac remarks, leaning in and taking a whiff.

“Hey, what do you think you are doing?” Stiles complains, pushing against the werewolf. Of course, it’s futile. He may have gained some new, incredibly astonishing powers, but physically speaking, he is still the same. No match for the supernatural strength of a werewolf. Isaac gets the message, though, pulling back at once.

“You smell different,” He states matter-of-factually.

“Different how?” Stiles inquires, fearing the worst.

“I don’t know,” Isaac frowns. “Just different.”

Peter had warned him …

 

\+ flashback +

 

_Stiles wakes up gradually._

_The first thing he notices is the fact that the edge of the bed seems to be further away. Well, it actually_ is _further away. Clearly, he moved closer to the middle of the bed during the night. Completely unintentionally, mind you._

 _The second thing Stiles notices is the heat. Heat, that seems to surround him. Okay, again, it_ literally _surrounds him._

_And the third, and probably the most significant detail Stiles becomes aware of is the sizeable erection snuggly nestled against his ass. Sure, there are still two layers of clothing between them, but it’s hard to miss the fact that Peter is very well endowed._

_Stiles tries his best not to freak out._

_Don’t get him wrong. It feels nice, being held. He feels safe and cherished. But this is Peter, a man more than twice his age, a werewolf, not to mention a murderer, someone who shouldn’t be trusted … and yet here he is, in bed with said guy, cuddling._

_Okay, maybe this is more than just cuddling. Peter’s grip on him is too tight to be called cuddling. Or at least Stiles thinks it is. Then again, what does he know about cuddling? He has no experience to speak of, except for the cuddle session with his mom. But that was ages ago, and totally different._

_It’s not uncomfortable; the way Peter holds him close to his bare chest, half of his body draped over Stiles, making it impossible to escape unnoticed. It’s kinda protective, and yes, maybe a wee bit possessive, but that’s not what bothers Stiles. It’s not the hard dick poking at him either, not really anyway. No, it’s his own reaction._

_Of course, it’s not the first time Stiles has woken up with morning wood, far from it. He is a healthy, seventeen year old boy after all, but it has never felt like this. He is already close. One touch and he would blow his load._

_“No need to panic,” Peter admonishes. His voice is a bit rougher than usual, probably from sleep. “It’s a natural reaction.”_

_“Who is panicking? Not me.”_

_“I can smell your anxiety,” the werewolf begs to differ. Of course he does. And naturally, he can’t just leave it at that. He has to mention the other thing. “And I can smell your arousal.”_

_“Yeah, well,” Stiles says, and huffs, “but as you said … it’s a natural reaction. Just let me go and I’ll be out of your way.”_

_“I don’t mind,” Peter hums, not loosening his grip. No, instead he pulls Stiles even closer, his hand brushing over the bare skin where Stiles’ shirt has ridden up during the night. His fingers dance over his stomach, causing Stiles’ muscles to clench and relax. It doesn’t help the situation, it only makes things worse. If only he would … “I can take care of it, if you want me to.”_

_It’s a tempting offer, so very tempting. Having someone else’s hand on his dick would be a nice change. And it isn’t like that Stiles hasn’t thought about it before, especially after the kiss they shared last night, but still, imagining something and doing it are two completely different things._

_“I don’t,” Stiles replies. It’s a lie and they both know it._

_“Really? Your body tells a different story,” Peter points out. He doesn’t laugh, but still manages to sound smug, the damn bastard. “You clearly need this as much as I do.”_

_“But this is wrong.”_

_“Why?” Peter asks, his warm breath ghosting over Stiles’ bare neck. It tickles, sending hot shivers down the vedmak’s spine. The werewolf doesn’t take things further, though. He just continues to nibble at his neck and caress his stomach. Stiles may not be completely ready for this, but he can’t take this anymore. He needs to come, like right now._

_“Just touch me already,” Stiles whines, desperately._

_“I thought you’d never ask,” Peter groans, sounding more than happy to oblige. Clearly, he has just been waiting for the vedmak’s permission to proceed. A noble gesture, sure, but probably not his only impetus here._

_Anyway, Peter doesn’t hesitate. He quickly pushes both their underpants down and gets to work, grinding against Stiles’ bare ass and encircling Stiles’ dick with his free hand. Stiles is leaking so much precum by now there is no need for any lubricant. Peter’s grip on him is strong and sure, and so are his movements._

_Stiles moans loudly, sounding like a bitch in heat, but right now he doesn’t care. It feels good, too good in fact. Rocking back and forth, chasing both sensations at the same time, he races towards his climax faster than he (actually) wants to._

_“Come for me,” Peter commands and Stiles has no other choice but to obey. He comes in thick ropes all over the werewolf’s hand and his stomach. A few more thrusts later the werewolf follows, pulsing wetly against his back._

_Stiles slumps back, panting like crazy, but feeling utterly relaxed for the first time in a long while. Clearly, Peter was right. He totally needed this. But as satisfying as this was, he is a complete mess, covered in copious amounts of jizz. At first he didn’t mind, but the more it cools, the ickier it feels._

_“I need a shower,” Stiles proclaims, wriggling to get free. This time Peter doesn’t protest, letting him go at once._

_“Go ahead,” The werewolf chuckles, adding, “But it won’t do much.”_

_“What do you mean?” Stiles frowns, trying his best to look Peter in the eyes and not …_

_“It will take a lot more than a shower to wash off my scent.”_

\+ end of flashback +

 

“Earth to Stiles,” Isaac calls the vedmak’s attention, chuckling.

“Sorry, I just went away for a second,” Stiles shrugs, taking a sip of his can. He can tell that he is blushing, hoping that the werewolf doesn’t notice. No such luck, though.

“I can tell,” Isaac smirks, waggling his eyebrows. “Your heart rate just went up a few notches and your scent changed.”

“Stop doing that!” Stiles groans.

“What?” Isaac replies, playing dumb.

“You know exactly what I mean. The werewolf thingy … listening to people’s heartbeat and sniffing them … it’s creepy.”

“It’s not like I do it on purpose,” Isaac defends himself, and he is probably telling the truth. Well, at least he has the decency to look guilty (unlike others) and senses when it’s time to change the subject. “Are you coming to the pack meeting tonight?”

“I didn’t know there was one,” Stiles grumbles, opining the bag of chips. He takes a few before offering Isaac the bag. The werewolf accepts it with a grateful smile.

“Derek just texted us this morning.” It sounds like an excuse, a lame one at that. Clearly, ‘us’ only meant the werewolves, not the supposed human, unless Stiles missed a text message, which is impossible considering he had his eyes glued to his phone’s screen practically the entire morning.

“I’m sure Derek didn’t forget you,” Isaac hurries to stick up for his Alpha. “It’s just that Scott told us that your Dad doesn’t want you to be involved, well not until you’re fully recovered.”

“Nice to know Derek listens to someone …,” Stiles scoffs, not missing Isaac’s reaction. He may be Derek’s beta, and therefore loyal to the Alpha, but it’s obvious he is aware of the younger Hale’s deficits. “But I’m fine now.”

“Then you should come,” Isaac simply concludes.

“Why?”

“Because you are the smartest of us.”

Well, that’s not exactly true. Academically speaking, Lydia is the smartest, but in regards to the whole thinking outside the box thing, coming up with ideas and conclusions no one else even dares to consider … yes he is probably the smartest. Well, apart from Peter, of course.

“Maybe,” Stiles allows, “but that’s not a good enough reason.”

“It is as far as I am concerned,” Isaac shrugs. “And besides … you really should meet Peter’s pet.”

Stiles almost chokes on the handful of chips he just stuffed in his mouth. “ _Pet_?”

“You know … the wolf.”

“What makes you so sure, he will bring him around?”

“I’m pretty sure he will,” Isaac states, sounding very confident. “Derek says they are practically glued at the hip.”

_Well, that’s one way of putting it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d really, really like to hear your thoughts …. *hint, hint*


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter POV

Peter walks into the sheriff's station with his head held high and a cocky smile on his face.

And why shouldn’t he? It’s not like he is here to confess a crime or cause any trouble. Quite the contrary, he is here to help. Sure, that’s very unlike him, but it’s the truth.

Despite his rap sheet, the werewolf has only been here twice, and that was before the fire. Things haven’t changed much, though. Sure, due to the damage caused by the Kanima and that Matt boy, not to mention the Argents, the station’s interior had to be refurbished and most of the windows and doors had to replaced, but other than that it looks pretty much the same.

“I’m here to see Sheriff Stilinski.” Peter tells the deputy who is sitting at the desk near the entrance.

According to the shirt tag, his name is Parrish. Peter doesn’t know him, has never seen him in town, but that’s neither here nor there. For one the werewolf doesn’t socialize much, for obvious reasons. And secondly, aside from the furniture half of the staff had to be replaced as well. It’s a miracle anyone had been eager to apply for the job after what happened a few months back. Then again no one – aside from the people involved – knew what truly went down that day. Which is a blessing, and given the fact that the sheriff is in the loop of all things supernatural now, their chances of survival are slightly better than they were before.

On first glance the deputy looks young, not older than twenty five, but his eyes tell a different story. They are brown with a few green specks, nothing special. They don’t change their color even though Peter is practically challenging the guy with his steady gaze, but still … they look much older than the rest of him, like he has seen things, terrible things going back eons. On instinct the werewolf puts out all of his (supernatural) feelers, but unfortunately Peter can’t pick up anything, which isn’t reassuring at all, because there is certainly _something_ about the young deputy that makes his wolf squirm in discomfort, almost causing it to cower in submission.

Not that the werewolf would ever admit to that.

As much as it literally pains him, Peter decides to drop the matter for the moment. But that doesn’t mean he won’t do something about it later. He is sure in that particular case Stiles will be more than eager to help out, to do some research, maybe even use his new powers to find out everything there is to know about this guy.

“And you are?” the deputy replies, eying the box Peter is holding with mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

So what if he came prepared? It’s not exactly something out of the ordinary. The werewolf always prefers to be fully prepared before going into battle. Not that this is a battle. Well, not exactly, but close. It’s a battle for Stiles’ affection. Then again, bringing a large box full of sugary pastries may not be the best way to win Stiles over, but it’s certainly a start to get into the sheriff’s good graces.

Speak of the devil, John Stilinski makes his appearance.

“Mr. Hale, you are here. Good.” the sheriff greets him, sounding anything but happy. Not that Peter expected to be welcomed with open arms. He understands the sheriff’s reluctance to trust him. Stiles might not have told his father everything, but enough for him to remain on guard. “It’s okay, Parrish, I’ve been expecting him.”

The deputy doesn’t look completely reassured, but he clearly trusts his boss’ judgment enough to keep his opinion to himself. Still, that doesn’t stop Parrish from giving Peter a warning glance before going back to his paperwork. Peter just rolls his eyes and chuckles, before following the sheriff down the hall into his office. He is a bit surprised when the sheriff tells him to close the door behind him. Then again their meeting isn’t exactly official police business.

“I brought this for you.”

“Bribery is a felony,” John Stilinski comments dryly, but taking the box out of Peter’s hands nevertheless.

“And as far I know so it accepting it,” the werewolf points out with a smirk.

“Touché!” the sheriff grumbles, opening the box and choosing a double-glazed donut. “No wonder my son likes you. You two share the same affinity for snarky comebacks.”

“Thanks,” Peter replies, knowing full well it’s not a compliment just a mere observation. “And I’m sure that’s not the only reason.”

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have said that, but well … the sheriff just said as much. He and Stiles are very alike, rarely able to leave well enough alone, always ready with a quick remark.

The sheriff doesn’t respond right away, just takes a bite out of his pastry. He chews very slowly, eyeing Peter suspiciously, before finally swallowing. “Is there something I need to know?”

“No,” Peter lies smoothly, adding in his mind, _‘Not really … unless you want to hear about me breaking my promise and touching your underage son … not that he didn’t ask for it … repeatedly …’_

It’s obvious that the sheriff doesn’t believe him. He may just be a human, with no supernatural abilities to speak of, but he is a highly trained officer of the law, not to mention Stiles’ father. He knows how to read people, especially the ones who aren’t exactly known for being innocent lambs. Much to Peter’s surprise, the sheriff doesn’t take the bait, just huffs and takes a seat.

“I found one girl that matches your description,” he says, picking up one of the many file folders on his desk.  

“That’s good.” Peter comments, glad for the change of subject. Not that he is scared of John Stilinski, far from it. The sheriff may be a tough cookie in the human world, but that’s just it. He is just a human therefore no match for the werewolf. Not that Peter would ever resort to use violence against the sheriff in order to convince him that he isn’t the worst choice for Stiles. That would be more than counterproductive. And anyway, he is just as skillful with words as he is with his claws and fangs.

“In theory, yes,” the sheriff allows, completely unaware of Peter’s inner conflicts. “But I don’t think she is the one we are looking for. The killings started four months ago, right? This girl hasn’t been reported missing until two months ago.”

“That doesn’t mean we can rule her out.” Peter argues, walking back towards the small table next to the door, the one with the coffee machine.

He pulls himself a cup, carefully sniffing at the black brew before taking a sip. It’s not worst he had but it isn’t exactly good either, but it will have to do for now. With the cup in his hand the werewolf rejoins the sheriff at his desk. Strangely, he doesn’t have to ask for the police file. The sheriff just hands it to him without a word. The only things betraying the casual gesture is the sour look on his face. Clearly, he doesn’t like breaking the rules.

Peter takes a seat across from the sheriff’s desk and opens the file. He barely even skims the written report. It’s the picture that calls his full attention. It resembles his sketch so much, it’s kinda eerie. It had to be her, or someone related to her, like a sister or at least a cousin.

“She could be a runaway or someone who is here illegally.” Peter reasons, placing the file back on the desk.

“It would certainly explain why they reported her that late,” the sheriff agrees, clearly not completely ruling out the possibility that this is the girl they are looking for. “Unfortunately, the police report isn’t very helpful. Either the family who reported her missing has something to hide or the officer on the case didn’t do his job right. Looks like I have to drive over there and do second interviews …”

“On what grounds?” Peter objects. “I may not be on the force, but I know this much. Butting into other people’s businesses never goes over well.”

Of course, the sheriff doesn’t look very happy when Peter points out the obvious flaw in his plan, but he agrees nevertheless. “True, but I can hardly send you.”

“Why not? I can be very persuasive.” Peter smirks.

“I don’t doubt that,” the sheriff snorts. “But as you said, you are not a police officer. This may be a supernatural matter _now_ , but first and foremost this is a homicide … or at least it is according to you and my son … so, the lack of a body notwithstanding, it’s a _human_ matter. I know my son wants to be involved in the investigation, and apparently so do you, and probably everybody else in your pack … if they knew about it … but I can’t let you do that. Even sharing this much with you,” he waves his hand at the file in Peter’s hand, “is a major violation in protocol. We really have to play this by the book or I could lose my job.”

Peter doesn’t even think about contradicting the sheriff, because he is right. They don’t have any viable evidence, just some clues, most of them obtained by supernatural means, so pretty much nothing to work with for an officer of the law. In the hopes to find something helpful, he takes a look at the report again. The right move, as it turns out.

“I’ve got an idea.” Peter smiles. “I think we should talk to my housekeeper. She lives in the same area. There is a good chance she knows the family.”

Naturally, the sheriff is skeptical, but intrigued nevertheless. “It’s a good start as any. You really think she would come over and talk to me?”

“Let’s find out.” Peter says, pulling out his phone.

Needless to say, he isn’t surprised by the numerous text messages. Of course, he didn’t miss the incessant buzzing of his phone. How could he when the alarm went off every fifteen minutes or so? He just decided to ignore them for the time being, knowing they could only be from Stiles. No one else would send him a text, or ten. With a roll of his eyes Peter quickly skims through all of them. As expected, he didn’t miss anything important, just Stiles being a pain in the ass.

Peter lets his fingers fly over the keyboard, typing a short answer to Stiles’ last message.

**HARRASSMENT IS A CRIME, YOU KNOW. I’M SURE YOUR FATHER WOULD AGREE. I PROMISE I LET YOU KNOW WHEN YOUR DAD AND I HAVE SOMETHING SUBSTANTIAL TO WORK WITH.**

Sure, he could have told Stiles about his plan to involve his housekeeper, but that would only excite the vedmak’s curiosity further. And he couldn’t have that. Not right now. As far as the werewolf is concerned he did his part. He let the vedmak know that he is at the station with his dad, working on the case. He also promised to give him an update on the progress they make, which they haven’t. Not yet, anyway. So, technically he didn’t lie.

“Does she know about you?” the sheriff asks, breaking through his reverie. He sounds more curious than actually concerned. Peter doesn’t blame him though. He is still new to the whole supernatural world. He doesn’t know the rules or the repercussions of revealing one’s secret to humans. Hopefully, he doesn’t have to learn it the hard way.

“I doubt it. But even if she did, she is too smart to tell anyone.” Peter remarks darkly, before hitting dial. His housekeeper picks up after the second ring. “Lucía, my dear, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would LOVE to hear your thoughts.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV

Claiming he is feeling a bit weary from his first day back, Stiles doesn’t stay behind for lacrosse practice after his last class.

And why should he? Officially, he is still exempted from sports. Not that Coach is disappointed. He probably didn’t even notice Stiles’ absence considering he rarely even considers putting him on the field, not to mention the fact that he still can’t remember his name.

So, instead of following his friends into the boys’ locker room to get changed he grabs his backpack and makes his way towards the parking lot. Needless to say, no one stops him. Sure, Stiles is glad about it, but still, it’s a bit strange that he once again managed to fool all of the wolves.

Well, okay, maybe not all of them.

On his way out he runs into Isaac. The wolf doesn’t question his motive to leave early, just claps him on the back and says, “Go home and take it easy! I’ll see you later, though, right?”

“Not sure. Maybe,” Stiles replies with a shrug, keeping his gaze low. He may be able to keep his heartbeat in check – for whatever reason – but he can’t be sure that Isaac wouldn’t be able to detect the lie in his eyes.

“You should be there.” Isaac insists. “You are part of pack. We need you.”

Stiles wants to agree with the curly-headed boy. It’s true; they need him, certainly more than _he_ needs _them_. In fact, he gets more done without any of them. Okay, that’s not exactly true. He needs Peter, but Stiles doubts that Isaac considers the older Hale part of the pack. Not really, at least.

Peter and he are just a convenience – always there when the pack needs extra muscle or brains. Granted, Isaac clearly considers Stiles part of the pack, but just like the rest of the pack he considers Peter an uncertainty, probably even a threat. And that’s something Stiles won’t tolerate any longer, which is why he doesn’t say anything in return except for, “I’ll think about it.”

 

\+ + +

 

After ditching a flabbergasted Isaac in the hall, Stiles drives straight home.

He already knows that Peter isn’t at the station anymore. He left there an hour ago, giving his housekeeper a ride home. Apparently she doesn’t a driver’s license, taking the bus everywhere, including her meeting with his dad and Peter at the Beacon Hill’s sheriff’s station. Stiles doubts that the werewolf he is just being chivalrous, because that’s not his thing. He probably just wants to take the chance to find more clues, which is actually a great idea since they haven’t discovered any substantial evidence yet.

The vedmak just makes through the front door when his phone rings. A picture of a black wolf howling at a full moon flashes over the display. There is no name attached to the picture, but there is no need for it. Stiles knows exactly who is calling.

“It’s about time.” He greets Peter in a less the polite manner.

“I did answer you texts,” the werewolf growls back, obviously not amused by Stiles’ behavior, but he relents anyway. Well, somewhat. “Maybe I didn’t answer all of them, but I did keep my promise. I did let you know _if_ and _when_ we found something vital.”

“I know,” Stiles grumbles. He doesn’t apologize. Peter probably already knows how embarrassed he feels for acting like a brat. No need to make even bigger fool of himself by admitting that out loud. “So … did you find anything helpful?”

“Not really. I didn’t get to talk to her relatives or any of her friends, but I got her scent. Apparently she has been in Lucía apartment a couple of times, even left a sweater there …” Peter trails off, not going into further details. “Not sure it will do us much good, but it might help us to find her body.”

“Don’t use pronouns.” Stiles grumbles, falling right back into his earlier behavior, but with good reason. True, she killed three boys, but she is a victim too. She was raped and killed by some worthless piece of shit. Maybe those boys were involved in her murder, or maybe they were just surrogates for the real killer, but still he can’t really fault her for that. She is obviously confused, her tortured soul seeking revenge the only way it knows how, by taking other people’s life. “Her name is Marisol.”

“I know that.” Peter huffs. “What’s up with you? This is more than just me ignoring your messages. Did something happen today at school?”

“No,” Stiles replies. “Boring lectures, two tests, Harris being an ass … same old, same old.”

“Don’t even try to lie to me.” Peter growls. “What happened?”

Stiles should have known better. Of course he couldn’t fool the older Hale, not even over the phone. He drops his bag next to the couch and takes a seat. With a sigh he finally admits what is bothering him. “Derek called a pack meeting. It’s tonight.”

“He did?” Peter sounds genuinely surprised.

“You didn’t get an invite either?” Stiles inquires, mirroring the werewolf’s reaction.

“Not sure. Someone kept spamming my inbox with countless messages.” Peter jokes. It’s a lame attempt to lighten Stiles’ mood, but he appreciates the gesture. “But let me check … Yes. I’ve got an invite. Seven sharp, at Derek’s loft.”

“Figures.” Stiles grumbles.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Peter huffs. “Maybe it’s time to fill the rest of the pack in … on everything. I’m not going to rat you out or force you to do it, you know that. It’s your decision, but I think leaving them in the dark isn’t the best way to ensure their safety or prove your worth to them. Not that you should be required to do that, because it’s damn obvious, but you know how slow on the uptake they all are.”

Dead silence.

More silence.

“You just sound like my dad,” Stiles finally comments, adding with a heavy sigh, “But you are probably right. I should tell them.”

“I’m not sure about the comparison,” Peter remarks dryly, “but I take what I can get. I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”

 

\+ + +

 

Stiles finishes his homework and makes himself something to eat.

But even though he takes his time, there is still more than an hour left before Peter will be there to pick him up. He goes back to his room and sets up his Xbox. Usually, occupying himself with something mundane helps him to unwind. In fact, in the past – before the big revelation – he spent hours upon hours playing alone or with Scott.

But today it doesn’t work. The distraction only lasts for ten minutes before Stiles gives up and throws the controller away with an exasperated sigh. He scrambles out of his bed and walks over to his closet. He opens the door and removes the blanket hiding the chest from sight. Granted, maybe the blanket is a bit too much, because except for his dad no one has a reason to look into his closet. Then again Stiles sometimes forgets to close the door and in this case he rather doesn’t want to take any chances. Better safe than sorry.

As always Stiles only has to use the tips of his fingers to make the lid pop open and reveal the contents. He pulls out the book on top. He made significant progress deciphering its texts, but he is nowhere near done. Hence his decision to study some of the spells and potions he wants to try out next. And it’s certainly a better way to spend his free time than playing some video game.

He is sure his father would agree.

Well, somewhat.

 

\+ + +

 

People say time flies when you are having fun.

Stiles can actually attest to that. Unlike most people his age Stiles actually enjoys studying. Okay, that’s not exactly true. He doesn’t like studying for _school_ , but he enjoys doing research.

There is a difference.

When the door bell rings an hour later, Stiles is completely caught off guard. In fact, he very nearly jumps out of his skin, but thankfully due to his vast experiences he knows how to calm himself down again, and fast.

With less enthusiasm one might expect Stiles gets on his feet and puts the book away. He seals the chest shut and throws the blanket back over it, hiding it from plain sight. And then he makes his way downstairs.

Apparently he has been taking too long, because Peter rings the bell a second time.

“I’m coming. I’m coming.” Stiles complains, rolling his eyes.

Of course, the werewolf can hear him even though he is still outside. He doesn’t growl, just laughs. “I’ll be in the car.”

For a moment Stiles considers going outside and telling Peter that he changed his mind, that he’d rather stay at home and study his books. And that’s not even a lie. Why shouldn’t he blow off the pack meeting for something better? It’s not like anyone is expecting him to be there … well aside from Isaac and Peter.

Is it strange that the thought of disappointing the latter is making his stomach clench in discomfort?

Probably not, considering how close they had become over the last few days. It still baffles Stiles, but for the most part he is glad to have a confidant, besides his dad. And Isaac, in theory.

With a huff Stiles snatches up his keys and leaves the house.

The sun is almost down, which suits him perfectly. Thankfully, Peter did park his car in the driveway, just behind his jeep, close to the bushes, so nobody sees him shifting into a wolf. Which is good, but it also presents him with a new dilemma. He probably should have opened the door first. So much for thinking things through before acting …

Fortunately, Stiles doesn’t have to whine pitifully or scratch the car with his sharp nails to get inside. Peter opens the door before the vedmak has to take any kind of action. The werewolf probably just wants avoid the latter, though. Peter may not be as attached to his car like his nephew, or Stiles, but he certainly wouldn’t appreciate scratch marks on the passenger side of his car. For the other thing … well … there is no doubt in Stiles’ mind that Peter actually enjoys hearing him beg. Maybe not right here and now, but in general.

_Creep …_

Peter waits for Stiles to hop on the passenger seat and settle in before pulling the door close.

“I thought you were coming clean tonight?” Peter greets him with a smirk and a scratch behind the ears. Stiles simply huffs in response, but leans into his touch.

Unlike a true shape shifter his senses aren’t heightened when he is in this form. Even walking on all fours doesn’t come naturally to him. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Sure, he’s got the hang of it by now, but the first time he managed a full change, he was barely able to stand on his feet. He is still glad nobody was there to witness it. He probably looked like a baby deer trying to take its first, wobbly steps. Talk about embarrassing.

But still, Peter’s touch feels nice. It always does. In fact, to be completely honest it has always been like that. Even back in the underground parking lot when he forced Stiles to help him find Derek via Scott’s phone, it had felt the same. True, at the time Stiles didn’t actually realize it, because he was scared, convinced he was going to die no matter if he helped Peter out or not. But when he took his wrist, Peter’s grip on him was gentle, firm yes, but still gentle, like he really didn’t want to hurt him …

“Or are you planning a big reveal, like changing right in front of them and causing them to soil their pants?” Peter interrupts his inner musings. “Because that would certainly be funny … well, whatever works for you I’m game.”

 

\+ + +

 

Nobody is batting an eye at him when Stiles follows Peter into the loft, not even Derek. The only one who shows any sign of reaction is Isaac.

Okay, that’s an understatement. The beta is practically radiating with joy, grinning like a fool when he sees Stiles.

Stiles smirks wolfishly, _literally_ , lolling his tongue and all that, and then he looks up at Peter. He isn’t looking for permission to approach the other beta. It may look like it, but he isn’t. Peter holds his gaze for a moment or two, like he is contemplating something important, before he simply shrugs and walks away, towards the kitchenette, probably to get himself a drink or something.

The vedmak watches him leave, his eyes fixed on Peter’s ass. The older Hale may be twice his age – or older, who knows – but he is definitely in awesome shape. His jeans cling to his body like a second skin, highlighting his strong longs and his ass. Not for the first time Stiles wants to nip at it, lick it, taste it …

It takes quite some effort to pull his attention away from Peter’s retreating form, but he manages. He trots over to Isaac who is sitting on the lower steps of the spiral staircase, leading up to the second store, far away from the rest of the pack. Strange, he usually sits next to Boyd and Erica, but not tonight.

“Hey there.” Isaac greets him softly, almost hesitantly.

Since he can’t respond with words, Stiles does the only thing that seems to make sense to him in the situation. He sniffs and licks Isaac’s outstretched hand. The beta isn’t disgusted or surprised, if anything he seems to like the reaction.

Isaac is cautious at first, testing the waters, so to speak. But when he can’t detect any sign of struggle to his touch, he gets bolder, burying his hands into the thick fur, petting Stiles and scratching him behind the ears. It’s a bit weird, but Stiles allows it. It feels nice, not as nice as Peter’s touch, but nice nonetheless.

Then all of the sudden, without any warning whatsoever Isaac falls forward on his knees and embraces Stiles. The vedmak doesn’t fight against the betas enthusiastic outburst of affection, simply holds still. The werewolf rumbles in contentment. Clearly, Stiles’ acceptance of him speaks to both his human and werewolf side. Maybe more to the latter.

Isaac buries his face in Stiles’ fur and inhales deeply, and that’s when he stiffens. Slowly, very slowly he lets go of Stiles and pulls back, looking straight into the vedmak’s eyes.

“Stiles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I had to. But at least this chapter is a bit longer than usual …


End file.
